


All Choked Up

by knivpojke



Category: Cry of Fear, Simon Henriksson - Fandom, cof - Fandom, sophie (cof)
Genre: Abuse warning, Other, Pedophilia mentioned, broken bones warning, drugs warning, dysfunctional family warning, emetophobia warning, self harm warning, this is all gonna be bullshit but i had to redo it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23221480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knivpojke/pseuds/knivpojke
Summary: Both Sophie and Simon's pov for their interaction throughout the game that took place outside the book
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. Beginning of the End

It was an usually warm and bright day outside today. Sophie had just gotten done with one of her classes, and decided to walk to a nearby cafe to grab a cup of coffee. As she was walking, she was staring once again at her phone, looking at the messages Simon had sent her trying to concentrate on how to reply back, but her mind was coming up blank. Almost feeling defeated, she shoved her phone back into her pocket and continued on with her walk. She knew she had to say something, anything, but after their last get-together...

She sighed, hating the state that her friendship was in with Simon. She pulled her phone back out from her pocket to look at the news, hoping for a distraction so she could clear her mind when a particular article caught her eye. 

When Sophie read the news she was completely devastated, sobbing into her balled up fists. She hadn't spoken to him in a few days, which was unusual, because of the last conversation they both shared. Simon tried to reach out to her, but to no avail she ignored him, afraid of what to say back. She didn't want to hurt him, but nevertheless the serpent ate its own tail. Damned if she did, damned if she didn't. 

She felt... guilt. Was this any way to treat a friend? 

Neither Simon or Sophie had many friends to speak of, but strangely enough he never seemed to have spoken about any of his friends. She pondered if he had anyone else besides her, or if he really is THAT tight-lipped about his life. He never liked to talk about his past, and if he did it seemed to have been a special case, but it seemed to never have been something too terrible. And that worried Sophie.

Sophie wondered if Simon even wanted to talk about that night. The night she basically fled from him. She had her reasons, being terrified of affection, but surely there was a better way to handle it? Simon did text her, apologizing for his behavior, but the other texts that followed seemed basic. "Good morning, do you have class today?" "Have you had lunch yet?" "How was your day?" and Sophie chose to ignore him. 

But now, she has to reach out, she has to make sure Simon's okay. She tried calling, but was immediately sent to voice mail. She thought maybe his phone is currently turned off and decided to send him a text, "I heard what happened, are you okay?" but it didn't go through. It's possible he ran out of phone credits, but it didn't stop Sophie from thinking the worst. She started to fear she screwed up their friendship by ghosting him, or maybe he had died and word just didn't reach her yet.

She doesn't even know when the accident happened. It could have been on that same night for all she knew.

Regrets, guilt, and nausea crawled up inside Sophie like thick smoke, threatening to make her sick.

\--------

Simon sat slumped in his new chair, bitter and angry at everything, cursing the doctors for not being able to save his legs, wishing the driver would have died, hoping that maybe this wasn't a permanent solution. He'd been in the hospital since that night and loathing every second he was there. Being kept awake from his excruciating pain, or when he finally fell asleep he was woken up in the middle of the night, hauled over to every part of the hospital which seemed to have been the furthest locations from his room, enduring tests of every kind that seemed to put him in even more pain. His only solace in this time was the morphine in his IV bag. He saw his parents maybe once during his stay, they never were much to give him company, and God he was so lonely. Simon's Parents were suppose to buy him a new phone card, but they probably forgot, they have a bad habit forgetting about him. If there were anyone he'd want to be there for him... she couldn't be bothered to text him back. 

He often beat himself up remembering the embarrassing display he made of himself that night in front of Sophie, and a part of him doesn't blame her for avoiding him because of that. He wishes he could have done it different, or possibly not at all. But Simon really felt like he could possibly tell her everything, but he started with the wrong thing. He didn't want to continue hating himself over this, he wanted to pretend it never happened, but he couldn't let it go, especially from her lack of a response it led him deeper into his hole of self hatred.

He grabbed his phone from his night stand, to check to see if anyone messaged him, but of course no one could get a hold of him even if they wanted to due to his phone being out of credits. He used his last minutes trying to reach Sophie without realizing it. 

Simon began rereading the messages between the two starting from that day through eyes that blurred from tears threatening to rise. He gripped his phone, wishing to crush it with his bare hand, and when he couldn't he decided to throw it as hard as he could against the wall across from his bed. It hit the wall with a loud thump followed by the sound of it crashing to the floor, possibly knocking the battery out. He couldn't care. 

He knows he has no right to be angry at Sophie, but he couldn't help it. Simon's mind ran with horrible thoughts ranging from "If I were her, I'd hate me too" to "Fuck her."

He couldn't do anything, he could barely move around, he hadn't yet adjusted to the wheelchair, and it's not like he could retrieve his phone if he wanted to.

\--------

Sophie decided to visit his parent's house, to see if he was possibly at home. She went up the steps and knocked on the door and waited for what seemed like a century before his mom finally answered. 

"Sophie, hello, what are you doing here?" She greeted.

"Hello, Mrs. Henriksson, is Simon here?" Sophie queried.

"No, haven't you heard? He's in the hospital, might never walk again." Mrs. Henriksson seemed... a bit too nonchalant about this statement, but it was obvious she's been crying.

"Hospital? I heard he was involved in a car accident, and that was all." Sophie said.

Mrs. Henriksson looked like a light bulb turned on in her head, then said "Oh, that reminds me, could you do a favor for me?" She asked.

Sophie was a bit caught off guard by this, "Well, sure. What is it?"

Simon's mom excused herself for a moment, not bothering to invite Sophie inside, then reappeared with a phone card in her hand. "Could you take this to Simon for me, please? He asked for another one, but I've been busy."

Sophie gently took the card from her hand. "Of course. Could you tell me where he's at?"

After Mrs. Henriksson gave Sophie directions and his room number, which was written down on a wrinkled post-it note, she ushered Sophie away and closed the door.

Sophie looked at the note for a little bit longer after walking down the steps, examining it as if she were trying to find something on it. It's just a plain piece of paper, but this whole thing made her stomach knot up again. 

"What am I going to tell him?" She wondered aloud. She tried to call Simon one more time before heading towards the train. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but of course the call led directly to voicemail again. 

\--------

A knock of a sequence of three was heard from Simon's door. He had assumed it was one of those damn nurses again, and they were going to barge in anyway whether he says something or not, so he didn't say anything, but it sure was taking them a few seconds longer to open the door than usual. Eventually the door opened up slowly, and Simon was seen starring out the window. Sophie finally piped up "Hi, Simon."


	2. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have a talk

Simon spins his head around, surprised to hear Sophie's voice. He was genuinely shocked to see her here. A feeling of embarrassment crept up inside him, whether he knew the reason for it or not. It could have been the fact he's in a hospital gown, the ghost of his recent hateful thoughts of her, or other various things about his current situation.

Sophie stepped forward and held out the phone card to Simon. "Here, your mom asked me to give this to you."

Simon's eyebrows furrowed, "She better not have made you pay for that."

Sophie let out an obvious fake but nervous laugh. "Of course not," she stated. "She told me she's been busy to come back and give this to you."

Simon reached out and grabbed the phone card, gripping it a bit tighter than what was necessary and let his hand fall into his lap. "Thank you, for bringing this to me."

Sophie could tell he was tense, noticing how tightly he gripped the phone card, and the bags under his eyes made him look weary... she started to wonder if it was a bad time to come by, but ultimately decided to sit down in the chair in his room deciding to not leave just yet.

"So, what are you doing here?" Simon asked, there was a small crack in his voice that he was hoping she wouldn't have noticed.

"I wanted to see you," she stated, feeling a little defensive of her choice. "I wanted to make sure you're doing okay."

"Well, I'm not okay. In case you haven't noticed I'm in a wheelchair now, and I might be for as long as I live. But thanks for your sudden concern." Simon turned his head away, looking at anything but her, feeling his eyes starting to burn from the tears threatening to fall.

They both were quiet, this gave Simon time to suppress his tears and recollect his anger. They both had hurt feelings towards each other, and neither one was sure how to fix this. Sophie started to tear at the skin around her fingernails from her stress without realizing it. She eventually let her gaze fall to the floor where she discovered his phone laying fallen apart. She walked over and knelt down to put it back together for him.

"I'm sorry," Simon managed to choke out.

Sophie said nothing, afraid of saying the wrong thing. Was it better to not say anything? As if that worked wonders the last time she didn't reply. She didn't even know what to say no matter how much she tried to think of something, anything. She stood back up, turned on his phone to make sure it still worked, and handed it to him which he took it with a gentle grip this time.

After a moment of silence she finally thought of something. She wants to be here for him. She wants to let him know that. "It's okay, Simon, I just want to help if I can."

Simon turned on his phone's screen, making sure it wasn't cracked. "Thank you," he replied.

Sophie sat back down. "I don't know what you're going through, and I don't think I ever will, but I am here for you. I'm still your friend."

Simon's shoulders slumped. He stared intently out of his window, still not looking at her because he didn't feel like he could and still maintain the little amount of calm he had left. "Thanks for saying so," he replied sounding defeated. He wasn't sure if he believed in what she was saying. "You don't have to be here, not if you don't want to."

"I want to be here for you, Simon. You just need to tell me how I can help."

"I don't think you can help me. The doctors can't help me. I cannot be fixed."

Sophie reached out to rub his upper arm to comfort him, Simon flinched which caused her to retract her hand. "You're not broken, Simon," she stated. "You're still you."

He said nothing and begun staring at his legs. He's not in the mood for false optimism, and he failed to see what she was trying to tell him. "Thanks," he said coldly.

"I am sorry I never texted back," she started. "I wasn't sure how to, and I-"

"Don't worry about it," Simon snapped back. "Besides, I think I should be the sorry one." A tear fell from his left eye which he quickly dabbed away.

"I don't want you to feel bad about it. I'm sorry." Sophie wanted to reach out to him again to comfort him at an arms distance, but felt hesitant to after noticing how he flinched. "I'm still your friend. I'm still here for you. I just want you to be okay, and I want us to move past this." Simon finally looked at her, and she finally saw just how red his eyes were, both in his sclera and around his eyes. She wanted to ask him just one thing: "Why didn't you tell me sooner? Why didn't you say you were in an accident?" but she wasn't sure if she had the courage to dig into his answers just quite yet.

"Thanks for stopping by, Sophie, and thanks for giving me a phone card." He picked it up and waved it a little in the air. "But you don't have to stay if you don't want to. I won't take any offense to it."

She interpreted his statement as "I don't want you here right now" and stood up. "I promise to reply to every text you send me. If you need anything I'm only a message away," she quickly said before heading out the door, gently closing it behind her.

Simon was alone again. That familiar loneliness he's all too accompanied to. He wheeled himself over to the nightstand and placed his phone down and let his hand linger on it for a few seconds before retrieving it again to enable his service again. Now that she knew his situation, does she think different of him? She did press that they were friends, and though that should be enough of a blessing for him it didn't satisfy him. He wants to talk about that night but he's not sure how to go about it. There's a lot the two needed to talk about, but he supposes it could wait until she brings it up. He wonders if she'll message him first? Should he? Does it matter?

He stared out the window again, wondering if he'll see her leave. Everybody leaves, and no one stays long. Is she going to be the same way? He ponders just how his newfound disability is going to change things.

He couldn't ponder for long before a knock was heard on his door. Immediately someone walks in and greets him, "Simon Henriksson?"

"Yeah?" he questioned.

"I am Doctor Purnell, you'll be visiting with me today."

A new doctor? What for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not sure how his phone would work regarding phone credits so I'm assuming it all based off of my previous phones how it works lmao


	3. 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon broke something else.

Sophie's ride back home seemed to last her a little bit longer than usual. She didn't want to leave just yet, but she felt like there wasn't any other choice. She had her earbuds in, listening to the music coming from her phone to drown out the cluster of noises around her on the train. Every second seemed to last an eternity, but the music on her phone didn't seem to last very long. She kept thinking about her interaction with Simon, and it was very uncomfortable to her. She kept wondering if there was anything else she could have said or done to stay longer, or make sure he would be okay. Eventually her stop came. She hopped off the train to find that the weather has changed to a rainfall without her noticing. She threw on her hood and started her walk towards her studio flat. 

As soon as she unlocked her door and entered her home she was greeted by her orange tabby cat. She got redressed into dry clothes and wrapped herself up with her blanket, sat on her twin sized bed and begun to cry.

\--------

Simon didn't enjoy his therapy session. He didn't ask for a therapist, or to be evaluated, but he has one more appointment with Purnell before he'd be released from the hospital. He was fuming from it all while laying in his bed.

The door to his room opened without a knock. Simon's parents walked in, and before he could greet them, his father immediately laid a stack of papers in his lap. "We've been flat shopping for you," his father started. "All of these are wheelchair accessible, they're fairly cheap, and they're near a few shops you could visit, and you could still do your own grocery shopping." 

Simon hesitantly picked up the stack of papers, and flipped through them without saying a word.

"Honey, you know you can't live with us now, right? We're not kicking you out, we just can't pick you up every time you need to go up the steps," his mother said. "We'll also help you with the application process to be put on disability-"

"I've already started it." Simon said cutting her off, there was spite behind his words.

"Oh, well that's good! I'm glad you're moving forward with this," his father stated.

Simon was silent, trying to process everything that's happening. His mother pulled up a chair to sit next to him. She plucked up one of the 5 applications laying on his lap. "I think you'd really like this one," she said. "You will need to use an elevator though. Do you think you'd be able to handle that?"

Simon's anger shot out of him. "For the love of god, mom, why are you treating me like this? Why are you kicking me out? I was just in an accident, I've been here for nearly 2 weeks now and you've only visited me once before now! Am I that much of a burden to you that the moment I cannot mow the lawn I'm deemed absolutely worthless?"

His mom placed a hand on his leg. "That's not it at all, honey-"

"Sophie said you've been to busy to visit me but we both know that's fucking bullshit! You had her do your own errands! I'm you're son!"

Simon's mom begun to cry and she left the room, leaving him alone with his dad.

"Now you listen here..." His father sat in the chair and gripped his leg.

"Don't fucking touch me." Simon growled.

"You do not talk to your mother that way, and you need to get a hold of your emotions before you say something you might regret." He grips his leg a little bit tighter. "Don't think we didn't notice the holes you punched into your bedroom walls. Who do you think is going to have to fix that?" He shook his leg then let Simon go before standing up. "Figure out the applications, pick out your place, and we'll be packing up for you. Have this done before tomorrow." With that, his dad left, slamming the door behind him. 

Simon began crying into his balled up fists. He cursed out loud and tried hitting anything that was nearby him, which was unfortunately the hard plastic sidebar of his bed. He slammed his right fist hard down onto it and immediately recoiled from the pain. He let out a yelp and cradled his hand with his other hand. He felt calmer now. After a few minutes of letting his hand rest, he began to check it out. It was immediately bruising. "Shit." He tried to flex each finger to find that it was unusually hard to move his pinky finger. "SHIT!" 

He reached for the remote on the side table of his bed to call for a nurse, but all he managed to do was knock it onto the floor. "FUCK!" he shouted. Despite his cursing, no one came. He supposes he'll just wait for someone to come by. There was nothing he could do to pass the time besides cry his frustrations out. If he wasn't in so much pain already he would have been trying to hurt himself by biting his left arm, but he felt like the pain from his right hand was enough of what he deserved. His thoughts trailed to Sophie. Should he call her to come back here? Did she already make it home? Could she help? ... Will she treat him different too? Will everyone?

God, he could really use a cigarette now of all times, but the hospital staff confiscated his pack and his lighter. Maybe he could ask someone to take him out to the courtyard tomorrow and have them bring the goods. Would anyone care enough to? 

It took a few hours before anyone bothered to check on him, and it was to ask him what he'd like for dinner. He neglected to mention his broken hand, but asked if a doctor could check on him. No doctor came by for the rest of the night, but his food did arrive, and it was difficult for him to eat without feeling nausea creep up his throat, threatening to spill.

It was around midnight when he finally gathered the courage to try and text her. He was able to retrieve his phone and message her: "Hey, how are you doing?" He immediately regretted messaging her, thinking she was asleep, when he got a message back: "Hi, Simon, I'm just tired. Don't you need your sleep?" He let his phone fall to his side, not bothering to text her back. She's right, he should try to get some rest. He let his head fall back onto his pillow, closed his eyes, and tried to think about the feeling of falling asleep. This was his way of hypnotizing himself into rest. 

He was woken up around 4 in the morning by a knock on his door in which someone immediately walked in. He tried to sit up but was immediately put in immense pain from his back, so he didn't bother trying it again. He looked down at his legs, remembering what happened, and feeling stupid for forgetting. 

"Good morning Mr. Henriksson," a voice greeted him. Simon looked over at what looked like a doctor, but not his usual one. "I was told you wanted to see me?"

"Yes. Hi," he said groggily from his sleep. "I think I broke my hand."

"Well, that's not good," This doctor commented very nonchalantly. "What makes you think that?" The doctor strolled to his left side, simply looking at his hands. 

Simon held up his right hand to show him the bruising on his palm. "I hit it."

The doctor didn't bother touching him. "That's sure some bruise you have there. I'll send in someone to have it x-rayed." And with that the doctor left without another word.

It was about 30 minutes until two people arrived, one wheeling in a machine, the other one a table. They both were wearing some chunky, long vests that looked a bit heavy. "Good morning," one of them chimed. "I heard you might have a broken hand?"

"Yeah," Simon said in agreement.

"Well, how did you manage that?" the second radiologist asked. 

Simon noticed that these people also have the same nonchalant tone and expression that the doctor did which annoyed him. "I hit it," he said once again.

"Well, that's no good, what did you hit it on?"

Simon thought about lying to them to make them laugh. "I broke my hand while doing cartwheels in this room." 

One of them laughed while the other stated "Well, don't do that anymore. Okay? So, which hand is it then?"

He held up his right hand, and as he did that the one with the table strolled over to his right side and had him lay his hand on the table. They moved out of the way while the other one wheeled the machine over it. "Okay, Mr. Henriksson I'm gonna-"

"Simon," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"Just call me Simon."

"Okay, Simon, I'm going to take a few shots of your hand now so we can examine it at our lab, okay?"

He nodded in agreement. 

The one with the machine took what looked like a detonator attached by a cord from the machine, as they both left the room. A few clicks were heard from the button of the detonator and before long they both came back in, occasionally repositioning his hand, and leaving the room again. "Alright, Simon, our job here is done! We hope you feel better," said the one wheeling out the table. With that, they both left, leaving the door open. 

Another 30 minutes pass before the doctor from before came back in, holding a few pieces of paper, staring intently at it. The doctor sat down next to him on his bed without looking at him. "Well, it looks like you sure did break your hand, Mr. Henriksson," the doctor said with a booming voice. "How did you manage this under our care?"

"I did cartwheels while in this room," Simon said, trying to make light of things once again.

The doctor looked at him with a serious expression. "Did you fall out of bed? Or did you hit something..?"

"I hit something." Simon didn't want to admit to what he'd done, not wanting to be in the hospital for longer than what was necessary, or being hospitalized for his acts of self-inflicted wounds. 

"What did you hit?" 

"I punched someone," Simon lied.

"Well, don't do that anymore, okay?"

God, Simon thought to himself, these people love repeating themselves, don't they? "Okay, I won't."

The doctor went back to staring at his papers, and stated "It looks like you did fracture your 5th metacarpal. You're going to need a cast. We'll get someone in to do that for you, okay? We'll see about you staying here for a bit longer before releasing you." Before Simon could get a word in the doctor patted him on the leg and left the room. 

He hated the fact that his legs were being touched, and he hated the fact he'd have to stay for longer. He looked at the clock across from his bed, looking at the time. He made the decision to text Sophie to ask her to come back when she's presumably awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case no one's noticed all of these chapters will be named after songs :P


	4. Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon's friends visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking some creative freedom and making a cof oc to be friends with Simon. Also if you don't want to read the parts including simon's parents, or the fact simon gets hit, the section is parted off with "--------" before and after

By morning Simon's hand was wrapped with half of a cast being held to his arm with gauze. He had messaged one of his acquaintances, Derek. He had asked Derek to take him out of his room for a while and to bring him a pack of cigarettes completed with a lighter, which he did just that.

They talked for a while sitting in the courtyard, shooting the breeze. The two received some nasty looks for smoking there, but no one said anything. Derek asked him about how the stay is, and that he's sorry he didn't visit sooner. Simon proceeded to tell him about all the tests he'd been put through, the trials, the pain... but Simon tried to keep it light-hearted as to not bring him down, or make him regret coming by.

Simon was three cigarettes in before he started to get a headache and had to call it quits. He did hide the cigarette pack underneath his gown. "My broken hand came after the accident," he said while raising his right hand to show it off.

"Damn, dude. How the hell did you manage that?" Derek asked.

"Parent's came by, started some bullshit, and I got so pissed off I slammed my fist down onto the side of the bed."

"The mattress? The mattress broke your hand? Fuck, man, I knew they were uncomfortable but I didn't think they were hard as marble."

Simon managed to laugh. "No, the sidebar." He stated. "I slammed it on the sidebar."

"Now your hand's going to be stronger as soon as you get your cast off, my man. I'm going to have no chance in fighting you now."

"I doubt that," Simon said. "I mean, look at me, you could pick me up and throw me now."

Derek scoffed. "Not before you snap my neck, dude." He lightly punched his left arm. "So what did your parents say that made you so pissed?"

Simon got quiet for a few seconds. "They're kicking me out."

Derek grunted. "They've tried that before, didn't they? What makes this time any different?"

Simon motioned towards his legs and Derek looked down briefly before raising his eyebrows and looking back at Simon. "So they're kicking you out because you can't kick them back anymore, huh?"

"Yeah," Simon sighed.

"Have you been looking into places yet?"

"They've been looking for me. They handed me a stack of papers filled with flats they picked out based off of wheelchair accessibility. They're in my room."

"Do you need help with that?" Derek said softly. "I can help with that."

Simon shrugged. "I guess it doesn't matter. I'll just choose one at random."

"If you insist, man. But this is gonna be your first place, so it should be special to you."

Simon could feel his anger spiking. "Special my ass."

Derek raised his hands defensively. "It's special because you can invite your best bro over so we can play games or have a lan party without worrying about anyone interrupting. You know, I could fill in whatever application you want with your hand being broken and all."

"I'm ambidextrous," Simon reminded him.

"Right, right. But still, think of the freedom you'd have living alone." The two were quiet for a while, taking in the scenery around them, until Derek looked panicked, quickly reached for his phone to check the time. "Shit, man, I gotta get going. I have a doctors appointment of my own." He got up, kissed Simon on the top of his head and before rushing off he said "Get well soon, dude."

Before Simon could say anything he was gone. "Shit." He was suppose to help him back into his room. Well, now's a better time than any to get adjusted to wheeling himself around he supposes. His arms were still considerably weak, but little by little he managed to wheel himself back into the hospital until his arms got tired, so he decided to sit in the lobby for a little while. He watched people walk by him, not even giving him a look, or if they did see him they'd immediately fix their gaze on something else. It didn't feel good to Simon... thinking that he's completely different compared to everyone else around him. Feeling invisible. He felt like screaming just to be seen by someone, anyone.

But he didn't.

He eventually found his way back into his room, and hid his cigarettes in the side table drawer. He reached for his phone when he heard his text tone go off. He looked at his screen to see that Sophie had messaged him.

"Good morning, Simon. I hope you rested well. Is it okay if I visit today?"

"Of course. Hope to see you soon" Simon messaged back. He put his phone back on his side table, and rolled up to the window to watch everyone outside. He hopes of seeing her arrive.

He had waited an hour before seeing a girl with chestnut brown hair wearing green arriving, holding a bouquet of flowers. He couldn't help but feel excited for her arrival, despite their past few conversations. He noticed he's feeling... okay. He's feeling better today than what he had been. Maybe it's from the pain from his hand and the nicotine?

It wasn't long before he heard the knock on his door. "Come in," he announced.

The door opened to see Sophie peaking in. "Hi Simon," Sophie greeted. "How are you doing today?"

"I'm fine," Simon said. "How are you doing?"

Sophie looked down and noticed his hand before looking back up, unsure if she should ask. "I'm good."

Simon lifted his right arm. "I did cartwheels," he said, offering it to be an explanation.

"Oh, okay," she wasn't sure how to take that statement. "I brought you flowers." Sophie walked over to place the vase of flowers on his side table, noticing the call nurse remote laying on the floor, she picked it up and put it back on the table. "The craspedia's are suppose to represent good health. and the chrysanthemum represents long life." There were other flowers in the bouquet she failed to mention what their symbolism is, such as the sedums, proteas, sunflowers, or the yellow roses.

"Thanks, Sophie, they're wonderful," Simon stated.

Sophie could tell he'd been smoking, he reeked of it. "How did you get a hold of cigarettes in here?"

"Oh you know, now I owe someone a favor," he said, as if that were an explanation.

She nodded as if she understood what he meant. "Can you tell me what really happened to your hand?"

Simon's shoulders slumped. "I got mad, hit my hand on the side of the bed."

Sophie looked at him puzzled and stared at his bed. "I'm sorry," she choked out, feeling guilty.

"Oh, no, it wasn't you, I promise," Simon said, backing up. "My parents visited me after you. They're kicking me out of their house, and the talk took a turn for the worst."

"Oh... Do you need help with that?" Sophie asked.

"No, they've already done the researching for me," he points to the stack of papers at the end of his bed.

Sophie walks over and picks them up, examining each one individually. "Have you chosen a place yet?"

"It's the very last one there," Simon said, guessing. He hadn't given it a proper look and he wasn't sure which one he was picking out.

Sophie picked it out from the stack and looked it over, comparing it to the others. "Are you sure you want this one? It may be cheaper, but compared to the utilities and furnishings of these other ones..." she stopped herself. "No, it's your decision. I'm sorry."

Simon started feeling stupid for not taking the flat research seriously, so he shrugs. "It just feels more like home to me."

"It does make for a good starter flat," Sophie said, trying to brush off the feeling of awkwardness. Sophie put down the rest of the applications back down onto his bed and stared at the one Simon chose at random. "If you fill this out, I'd be happy to turn it in for you."

"You will? Thank you," Simon said, a little surprised.

She handed him the application and gave him a pen she pulled out from her hoodie pocket. "So how much longer are you going to be in the hospital?"

"Not sure," Simon wheeled over to face the wall to use that as a flat surface to fill in the application. "It was suppose to be just another day or two, but because I broke my hand I'll be here for a while longer."

"Oh," Sophie frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that. I bet you were looking forward to getting out."

"Yeah, well, I guess it's what I deserve."

They both were quiet while he was filing out his application. Sophie in the meanwhile sat on his bed. As soon as he was done with the application he handed it to Sophie. "You can grab the application fee check from my parents," he suddenly remembered, oh right, they were going to visit today. "Never mind, they'll be visiting today anyway." He grabbed the application back and placed it on his lap.

"Oh, are you sure? I really don't mind," she said.

"Yeah, it's fine," he assured.

"Do you want me to be here when they visit?"

Simon looked at her in surprise. "N-no," he stuttered.

Sophie nodded her head, understanding he would want to be alone if they came today.

"It's not that I don't want you here, I'm just afraid of how the visit will go," Simon assured.

"I see. Do you feel like it will go badly?"

"Our talks usually do, and if it will I don't want you to witness it." Simon feels bad remembering the first time she was present during one of their spats, they're not shy to start an argument no matter who's nearby. It was about him finding a job and moving out. He honestly loves the house, and he kinda wished that his parents would let him own it while they moved out. He remembered what they had told him about the steps; how hard could it be to make it wheelchair accessible anyway? He looked down at his legs, feeling hatred towards them.

A knock was heard on the door before someone entered, bringing Simon his lunch. They had laid it on the table in his room and told him how they hope he enjoys his meal, then vanished.

Simon was hungry, but he didn't want to eat just yet because of his experience with his nausea from the morphine. He felt like his dose was too high, but he didn't want it lowered either.

Sophie looked at her phone to check the time. "It is lunch time, isn't it?"

"I guess so," Simon said. "If you want some of my food you can take whatever you want."

"Oh, no, I couldn't do that. You need to eat," she insisted. "I'll just go somewhere close to get something." She stood up, getting ready to leave. "I'll make it quick, I promise."

"Okay," Simon said a little defeated, not wanting her to leave just yet. "Have fun."

"See you soon!" And with that, Sophie left.

Simon felt his mood starting to drop. He's been alone in this hospital for too long, and the company doesn't seem to last either. He supposes he could try to eat. He wheeled himself over to the table to look at what they brought. A sandwich, some soup, a roll, some milk, and a cookie. He started eating the sandwich and managed to get half of it down before his nausea got the better of him. Eating seemed like such a chore now, it left him winded since he had been in the hospital. In fact, a lot of things have started leaving him feel fatigued.

\--------

His door opened suddenly and two figures walked in. Fuck, it's his parents. He's glad Sophie already left.

"Have you picked out a place yet?" His dad greeted.

"Nice to see you too," Simon sarcastically stated.

His father walked over and grabbed the application from his lap and looked it over. He looked a little disappointed. "So, you chose the one furthest away from the house."

"I chose it from random. I didn't care," Simon said bitterly.

"Hi, honey," his mom greeted.

Simon waved to her, acknowledging her presence.

She grabbed the application and looked at it, frowning. "Oh... I didn't think you'd like this one," his mom stated as if she didn't hear that he just admitted to not looking over the options. "Are you sure you'd want this place?"

"Yes, for the love of God, please stop critiquing my choices already," Simon snapped.

His father glowered down at him and Simon pretended to not see.

"But have you seen this other place?" His mom picked out one of the applications from the stack. "All utilities paid, marble countertops, it's fairly close to home, and-" she stopped herself as she looked over to Simon. "What happened to your arm?"

Simon looked at his own hand. He couldn't tell her the truth. "Oh, it's also from the accident. I guess my hand's been broken and no one's caught it until now."

His mom looked at him in pity and let out a noise that matched her expression. "I'm sorry to hear that, Simon."

"What kind of doctors do they have running this place?" His father said, expressing his anger in a different form. "What kind of professionals leaves someone with a broken hand for 2 weeks?!"

Simon felt small under his dad. It's not like he cares, right?

"Please, don't yell," Simon's mom pleaded. "There's people here who are trying to rest."

His dad looked down at him and asked "How are they treating you here, huh?"

"If you bothered to visit more often then maybe you'd know," Simon growled.

"We were busy," he said defensively.

"Busy packing up my own things more like," Simon shot.

His mom started to try and say something, anything to break up the boiling argument, but she was quieted when his dad raised his hand up towards her. His father took a deep breath before replying, "We've been having to work overtime to pay for your new place."

"Which I never asked for," Simon said under his breath.

His dad reached out a hand and gripped his shoulder. "You've had everything handed to you, you can start by being a little bit more grateful. We've let you live in our house rent-free-"

Simon cut him off, "With the condition that I still did everything around the house."

His dad nodded "Which is _fair_ ," he sighed. "This is hard on us too, you know. But it's time for you to start taking initiative for yourself, and this-" Simon's father grabbed the application he filled out and faced Simon with it, "this is your first step, and we're both proud of you for taking it."

Simon looked down at his legs, mentally cursing the state he was in. He started wishing that no one would visit him and leave him alone. He never liked change, nevertheless sudden ones, and all of this he felt like it kept piling up on him a stack of bricks at a time. So why fight it anymore? His life choices will always be picked out for him; hell, it was even a fight to go to collage for what he actually wanted to do. His whole life changed the moment the car collided against his body. He didn't even have a choice then, either. That's what he gets for caring about strangers he supposes. He sure learned his lesson.

Simon's mom cleared her throat and said to Simon "You know this is for your own good, right? You're getting the independence you need now, and we won't be able to help you get around the house when we're at work."

"So this is all about my legs, isn't it?" Simon commented coldly, still staring down at his knees. 

His mom tsked, and coo'd. "That's not it at all, honey, you know that's not what this is about."

"Then why are you forcing me to change again? Haven't I done enough of that for you?" Simon shouted.

His dad gripped his shoulder even harder. "Son," he said between his teeth.

Simon fought to get his dad's hand off of him. "Fuck you! Don't fucking touch me!"

A sharp sting knocked him across the face, causing him to go quiet and still. He slowly raised his hand to his cheek and looked down at his father's hand, the same hand that just backhanded him. His father breathed heavily, furious, and he said "That's enough. We'll be leaving now."

His mother tried to quietly protest to his father about leaving, and wanting to make sure the two apologize but she was ushered out of the room with his father trailing behind her.

\--------

Simon was still for a few minutes, taking in everything that just happened. He suddenly remembered Sophie, and as if the thought of her summoned her, she knocked on the door. Three knocks in succession, then silence, waiting for permission to walk in. He was quiet, hoping she'd leave. He really didn't want the company anymore, but he doesn't think he could tell her to go away, so he thought this would be a better solution to say nothing and hope she either gets the hint or assumes he's out. But wouldn't she had to have passed his parents in the hallway? He was conflicted on what to do, but before he could make a choice Sophie entered the room slowly.

"Hey, Simon. Are you okay?"

He hadn't realized until just then that a few tears fell from his face, which he quickly wiped away, trying to save face. "Yeah, just a disagreement, that's all." He tried to brush off what just happened.

Sophie walked over and kneeled down by his side, and reached out to gently rub his shoulder in comfort, not knowing it was the same one his father just grabbed, Simon flinched slightly but Sophie didn't recoil. She looked up at his face, staring at the space between his eyes. "You don't have to talk about it, Simon," she quietly said. She saw his cheek getting red, she was able to piece together that he was struck. "You'll be away from them soon enough. Everything will get better."

Simon placed his hand over hers and looked away from her, staring at anything else. This felt nice... being comforted by her. "Thank you," he croaked. "I hope it will be."


	5. Street Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get His Ass (to therapy)

Sophie had stayed the whole day talking with Simon up until visitor's hours were over. They talked about school and current events, they made jokes, she had shown him a couple of memes she had saved on her phone, she had played some of Simon's favorite songs on her phone and he had tried to playfully head bang but ultimately ended up hurting his spine a little. She just generally tried to brighten up his day. Simon very much enjoyed her company, and he felt like they were finally getting back to normal, or as normal as it could be from this aftermath. She had helped one of the nurses bring Simon to his bed, which he felt embarrassed about, but Sophie couldn't mind one bit. Sophie had also helped the nurse take care of a few things despite the nurse's protest, such as draining the urine bag in the bathroom. She then refilled the vase with more water, commenting on how the flowers were thirsty, and made sure Simon had a cup of water within his reach before wishing him a good night, and told him to take care of himself. He returned with wishing her a safe travel back home.

As soon as she left, he felt the weight of the world tower over him again. He could go for a cigarette before bed, and figured he could smoke a little in his room and not cause too much alarm. He tried to turn himself towards his side table and reach for the drawer, but to no avail he couldn't reach. He tried propping himself up a little more to see if he could reach any further, but he only managed to open the drawer slightly to see that his pack was even further away from his reach, so he gave up. He closed the drawer and laid back in bed. Alone with his thoughts.

Maybe all of this is for the best. He stared down at his legs, in the great scheme of things maybe just maybe... he was trying to convince himself that this was suppose to happen after all. Or is all of that fucking bullshit?

He took off his cast and stared at his hand to examine the bruise, it was worse today than it was yesterday, and his broken area seemed to have swelled up considerably. He tried to perform a few finger exercises that was recommended to him, such as extending each finger and touching each digit down towards his thumb. He tried to make a fist but was greeted by pain from his pinky finger. Shit. That hurts. He decided that was enough of messing with his hand and did his best to re-wrap it back up.

He laid his head back, staring at the clock across his bed, listening to the ticking of the clock, trying to hypnotize himself into sleep.

\--------

He was walking down the streets of Stockholm, no one looking at him as usual, and he started to feel panicked, sweaty, and out of breath. Something was chasing him, but he didn't know what it was. He tried to run, but he couldn't seem to move very fast as if the ground was moving backwards from the direction he was running from, but he could feel the presence getting closer. He looked back to see a pale white figure gliding in his direction, having the same running problem but they seemed to be just a bit faster. The pale figure started screaming, it pierced his ears and caused his adrenaline to skyrocket. He looked back forward, trying to figure out where to run to when he noticed that everyone was gone, there wasn't a soul in sight. Did they all run away? But he didn't hear anyone running besides him. He tried calling out for help, but for some reason he couldn't shout and it only came out more as a whisper. He turned his head back to see how close this thing was now, it was about 25 feet behind him and it was still giving out an ear-piercing screech which he pinpointed it as what sounded like a woman being murdered.

He eventually came across an apartment building, hope, maybe someone would hear what was happening and come save him. He ducked into the apartment, trying out different doors, and tried shouting again to get anyone's attention, but either no one bothered or no one was there. He still couldn't scream no matter how much he tried. He heard this thing getting closer, and running faster after him. It was about an arms distance from him now.

When suddenly he felt like he was falling.

He woke up, still panicked, breathing heavily, and doused in sweat. He sat up the best he could and tried to get up but failed to remember he couldn't use his legs. He almost fell out of his bed when the sidebars caught him and he slumped over the railing, facing the floor. He took this moment to catch his breath and realize he's awake and that it was just a dream. It had been a while since he had a night terror to this magnitude.

He repositioned himself back into his bed and propped himself up by his elbows, staring at the room around him, wondering if there was anyone there. His gaze fell to the flowers and cup of water Sophie had left. He grabbed the cup and quickly drank it to quench his thirst. He was still thirsty, and he turned back to look at the flower vase. "Long life and healing, huh?" He started to wonder if somehow the flowers symbolism would magically help him. He grabbed the vase and carefully poured some of the water into his cup, gently placed the flowers back down on the side table, and gulped down the flower water. It immediately made him feel nauseated, but he pushed it down quite determined to keep it inside him. He had laid back down in his bed and looked at the time. He had been asleep for 10 hours. That's the most amount of sleep he had received the whole time he was here.

He remembered he had an appointment with Doctor Purnell today, and immediately begrudged it. He wasn't even sure what time the appointment was, he was very vague about it. It's not like he wouldn't know where to find him anyhow.

Simon passed the time by watching TV in his room, waiting for anyone to walk in. It took a few hours before a nurse walked in and gave him a sponge bath, which always left him feeling humiliated, then got him dressed in a new gown, and helped him into his chair to have his appointment with Purnell. The nurse wheeled him to his office, and quietly closed the door behind him, leaving Simon alone with Purnell.

Simon looked around the place, feeling like his office is quite bland compared to the hospital offices he'd seen on TV. There were hardly any memorabilia, pictures, or knickknacks. It honestly seemed like Purnell was moved in here without a proper chance to set up his new office. 

"Good afternoon, Simon, and how are you doing?" He said almost robotic-like.

"I'm fine, and you?" Simon wasn't sure how to feel about Purnell just yet.

"Good, good. How have you been since the last time I saw you?"

"Fine," Simon lied.

"Just fine?" Purnell queried. "Is breaking your hand out of anger considered to be a part of that being 'fine'?"

Simon looked down at his hand. He was a little flabbergasted that the news had reached Purnell. "Isn't there some sort of law that prohibits my doctor from sharing his patient's information with you?"

"Yes there is, and my statement was simply a suspicion that I gambled on."

Simon cursed to himself. Okay, so the privacy law is still enacted and he can still swindle this guy into thinking Simon doesn't need his help. "Okay, I regret breaking my hand, but I'm feeling better now," Simon said practically pleading. "Really, I don't need your help."

Purnell leaned back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other and stared a Simon. "How has your stay been here?"

"In this hospital?" Simon asked, trying to buy himself time to think of an answer.

Purnell nodded slowly.

"It's been okay, I guess."

"All I know is that there's been a terrible accident, you've hardly had visitors when you first got here, and the moment people started seeing you suddenly you have a broken hand." Purnell cleared his throat. "So, what would you like to talk about today? Do you have any goals you'd like to reach with me?"

"My only goal is to get out of here," Simon said desperately. 

"I'm sure you'll be released when the time is right," Purnell failed to see what Simon was trying to say. He adjusted his sitting position and placed both of his feet on the floor. "Would you want to talk about the events that took place when your hand was broken? Or about the accident?"

Simon looked down at the floor. "I really don't want to talk about anything with you."

"Ah, you don't quite trust me yet, I understand now. Why don't we start off with you asking me questions then?" Purnell sat up straight in his chair.

"Okay..?" Simon was a bit confused as to what Purnell was doing. "Tell me about your day?"

"It was fine," Purnell simply said, not offering anything else.

"Okay, where do you live?"

"In Stockholm."

Simon couldn't help but begin to glare at Purnell, and tried to think of something that would force a long answer out of him. "What do you like to do in your off-time?"

"Read," Purnell said flatly. They were both quiet and Simon was now looking at him with a quizzical expression on his face. Purnell leaned forward and told him "See? This is why we need communication. It's not fun when the conversation is strictly one-sided, is it?"

Simon rolled his eyes without realizing it, and sighed, not saying anything.

"Simon, I'm here to help you, and I can't do this if you're going to make this a one-sided conversation here. I did take some notes from our first session, and this problem we're currently facing is the biggest obstacle between us." Purnell leaned back into his chair again. "I need you to communicate so I can help you. What you've just experienced is a traumatic situation-"

"And it hasn't been the first one I've ever had to deal with, so I think I'll get along just fine, thank you." Simon cut him off, trying to show how he's capable of taking care of himself, when he realized what he had just done. He just told Purnell that there's even more trauma that he had dealt with. Fuck!

Purnell's hands grabbed each other, waiting expectantly for him to continue, and when Simon failed to explain any further, Purnell pushed "Please, could you inform me on what you meant? You've had other trauma?"

"Well, maybe it's not trauma, that's a strong word after all," Simon said, trying to back himself out of this situation he'd trapped himself into. "You know, thinking about it now, it's not..." Simon trailed off. He couldn't convince himself to keep up with this lie he had tried to build, and realized he couldn't build it very high.

"Simon," Purnell said, trying to sound reassuring, "I'm here to help you. You can talk to me, and I won't do anything you don't want me to. There's no consequences for talking here."

Simon shook his head. He's already made up his mind to give Purnell the bare minimum of conversation possible.

"Simon, could you tell me about the accident."

"I was hit by a car."

"And..?" Purnell pressed.

Simon sighed. "And I was held there up against that damn stone wall for what felt like hours."

Purnell nodded, staring at Simon intently.

Simon refused to say anything more and he didn't realize it, but he was back to staring at his legs. He didn't like being forced to remember the accident. He remembered the pain, the feeling of his blood rushing out of his body, the numbness that crept up his spine... It was dark as he was walking, he didn't care about the bitter cold that had stung his face but he still put on his hood to protect his ears from the cold. He had just hurt himself that night, and he thought maybe taking a walk could help him clear his head of things, trying to think about anything other than suicide. He had just made a fool of himself in front of someone he cared dearly about, and it could not have gone any worse than what it had. He wished that he were dead. He wanted to die so badly. He was contemplating these thoughts while also trying to think of something else, ANYTHING else, hoping for a distraction. Suicide was the only thing he felt like he had control over, and when the car pinned him to the wall... he felt angry beyond belief, but also had a sense of relief that he wouldn't be here for much longer. He hated to admit it, but he was disappointed he survived. But he remembered how hopeless that black night felt. That black day.

Purnell took notice that Simon's hands had begun to shake.


	6. We're Going to Be Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie reminisces about how she met Simon

Sophie woke up that day from her twin bell alarm going off, giving her the daily panic attack from their piercing ringing. She felt like sludge and she knew she definitely didn't sleep enough that night. She turned on her pot of coffee then headed into the bathroom to shower, stopping briefly to look at the swelling she had accumulated around her eyes. "Definitely taking a cold shower this morning," she spoke aloud to herself.

After her shower she took her medicine, fed her cat, and poured her coffee into her travel mug, and headed out the door. As soon as she locked her door she realized she didn't eat, but couldn't be bothered to go back inside to find something quick to eat. "I'll have an early lunch," She decided.

Her day went on as usual. She went to her classes, had lunch with her friends, and quietly did her homework and studied at home. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do as far as careers, but she hoped to figure it out eventually.

Thinking back, she assumed she had a pretty normal life. She had supportive parents, she always did well in school, except school was always rough for her. Kids are mean, they always have been to her, and she never quite understood why. They'd make fun of the way she dressed, her habits, how she looked, and spread nasty rumors about her throughout her peers. Her grades had begun to spiral due to all the harassment, so her parents made the decision to move to Stockholm so she could could have a fresh start and hopefully get away from that kind of toxicity, only to find that the harassment somehow followed and it was happening all over again. It was hard to find friends in this kind of environment, but if she was able to make friends at her last home then maybe she'd be able to do it again here. She never thought about fighting back, but instead walk away. She figured maybe everyone could find something else to do with their time if she seemed to be practically invisible, but it only made it worse. 

She tried to take a different way home that day, when a group of kids stopped her and asked her to go with them, telling her about a party for close friends, calling her a friend. She recognized one of the boys there as one who claimed he slept with her, so she declined and tried to move past them, when that boy grabbed her by the arm and tried to tell her that he _insisted_ she came.

That's when a voice chimed up. "Hey, I think she said she doesn't want to fucking go with you." She looked over to see another boy, close to her height, black hair, dark brown eyes, and pale skin for his complexion.

The harasser let her go and backed up, raising his hands defensively. "I was just inviting her into our friend group, that was all," he claimed "And besides, she could use a few friends, am I right?" He turned and looked at her with a smile.

That smile made Sophie's stomach turn. "N-no," she said quietly. "I'm okay, really."

"See, buddy? She said she's fine," said the harasser. He tried to wrap one arm around her but Sophie quickly shrugged him off and moved away, then continued to walk down the path she was heading towards. 

The group pursued, and Simon quietly followed.

Sophie tried to turn down a street when one of the girls from the group grabbed her hand. "No, we're going this way!"

Sophie retracted her hand. "I said I'm okay."

The boy put his hand on her shoulder and gripped her tightly, "We're okay, right? So come with us."

Simon saw Sophie's face twist into fear, so he walked up. "Hey, 'buddy'," Simon said behind him, trying to get his attention. As soon as the harasser turned around Simon cold clocks him. The boy fell to the ground, obviously not expecting that.

"What the FUCK!?" The boy shouted. The rest of the group hovered over him, either trying to help him up or asking if he was okay. "Get away from me," he told the rest of the group. He stood up on his own, then shoved Simon backwards. "The fuck is your problem, man?"

"I'll tell you this once, and only once, leave her the fuck alone," Simon growled, and gave him a glare that told everyone he'd be willing to fight if it came down to it.

The harasser dusted off his jacket. "Okay. Alright," he said with a deflective tone. "Had I known she had a boyfriend already I wouldn't have slept with her. She's too much of a freak for my taste anyway."

Simon glanced quickly over to Sophie to see her expression, she was visibly upset, and he returned his glare towards the boy in front of him. "I don't think anyone would want to hop on your micro dick, you jackass."

The boy was moving in a way that showed that he was getting ready to throw a punch towards Simon, which gave him enough time to act first. Simon grabbed the boy by the shoulder, quickly moved towards him with a fist in his gut. The boy hunched forward in obvious pain. While the rest of his group were once again huddling around the boy, Simon took this opportunity to move by Sophie's side and urge her to continue down the path towards her home, telling her "Let's go, come on."

With Simon's words she felt herself unfreeze and quickly walk away with him. 

After a few minutes of walking down the street Sophie started to slow down, realizing she didn't know where she was, and she hadn't been paying attention to her surroundings. Simon noticed her quick decrease of pace and asked "Are you okay?"

She shook her head, unable to speak. Tears welled up in her eyes as she begun to cry. Simon led her towards a bench of a bus stop and let her cry onto his shoulder, and she let herself go, letting go of all her frustrations that had built up her whole life, crying for an awfully long time before she was able to stop. "I'm sorry," she croaked out. 

"You don't need to be sorry. I'm glad you're safe," Simon assured.

"No, um..." Sophie raised her head slightly. "Do you have a tissue?"

Simon looked down at her and realized she had cried a little bit too hard into his shoulder. "Here," he said, taking off his hoodie, revealing he was wearing a long sleeved black shirt underneath. "You can blow your nose into this."

"No, I can't..." she started to say.

"I don't care, I can wash it."

She tenderly took it and tried to quietly blow her nose into his hoodie. "Thank you."

"Don't worry about it."

She decided to hold onto it, afraid of him touching the nasty part she just left. "Um... I'm lost."

"Well, where do you live?" Simon queried.

"I think I have to go back that way," she said, pointing down the street.

"I'll walk you home, to make sure you stay out of trouble," he said. He didn't trust the group to have actually let this be put to rest, and he felt like maybe he made this worse for her in the long run. But, then again, who knows what they would have done to her had she gone with them.

Sophie tried to protest him walking her home, but he insisted he wanted to help keep her safe.

They both had walked an awfully long time to get back to her house. She invited Simon inside, and she introduced him to her parents who were more than happy to see her bring home someone friendly. They both sat in her living room as Simon was telling her how to get to and from school quicker, showing her the bus routes on her laptop, giving her the times of when the trains were running, and telling her good spots to eat at.

It was starting to get late, and Sophie's mom invited Simon to stay for dinner, which he declined, saying he had to be home.

Sophie tried to give him back his hoodie, apologizing again for crying into it.

He declined it, stating "I have so many hoodie's. I'm like a hoodie slut." The two had then exchanged numbers and he wished her goodnight.

On his ride home on the bus, he messaged her saying: "Hey, Sophie, if you want me to walk with you to school tomorrow I can :)"

She had accepted his invitation, and told him she'd see him tomorrow.

"Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow."

Over the course of the year Sophie's life had increased for the better. With Simon being there for her, she didn't feel quite as lonely anymore, and it seemed like the moment Simon stood up for her people just didn't want to mess with either one of them. This gave Sophie a chance to make other friends, but they all didn't seem to want to hang around her if Simon was nearby. Sophie couldn't figure out why.

One day, feeling a bit brave, at lunchtime she asked her small friend group why they all dissipate when he's nearby.

They all looked at her puzzled. Kimmy spoke up, "I don't know why you even hang around with him. He's weird."

"How is he weird?" Sophie asked.

"Did you know he cuts himself?" Ørjan quietly said, afraid of anyone else hearing.

Sophie was shocked. She didn't suspect it, and she never really knew of anyone who actually did that. "Why?"

"Because he's weird!" insisted Kimmy once again.

"No, there has to be a reason," Sophie said sternly. "How do you know he cuts?"

"He did it in the middle of class a few years ago. He was sitting in the back, thinking no one would see him. He was sent away for a while." Ørjan adjusted his glasses as he remembered the events. "I was witness to it. He bled all over his desk."

Sophie felt... pity. She wasn't sure how to approach Simon about this, or if she should even ask.

"Honestly, he reminds me of one of those American school shooters," Kimmy said. "If anyone were to go on a mass killing spree, it'd be him."

Sophie stood up and slammed her hand on the table, indicating Kimmy had gone too far. She was quiet standing there, staring at Kimmy before deciding to leave the table and find something else to occupy her time. What Sophie had just learned bothered her, it plagued her mind unsure how to take the news. She felt like she had to talk to him about it to clear up whether he really does harm himself or not, or if he got better and stopped.

She headed into the school's library and found a corner to hide herself away in, but not before picking out a couple of psychology books hoping to find reasons why a person might hurt themselves. She couldn't find much in the books besides that it's a symptom of many things. Depression, stress, psychologically damaged, suicidal, etc. He does strike her as someone who does struggle with depression, but she didn't think he'd go that far.

She decided to look up more on her phone, searching for answers on how to go about this or more reasons why he might be doing this. What she had discovered was a person might self harm as a way to distract themselves, trying to feel something due to numbness, punishing themselves, trying to get emotions out or releasing tension. She's also read that when a person self harms the brain released a "feel good" chemical that makes them feel calmer, happier, or bliss in the aftermath. She also read that in some cases it could be addictive to the self-inflicting person.

Her heart sank into her gut as she continued reading the research about self mutilation, disheartened thinking that Simon could be doing this to himself. He was such a good guy, why would he feel like he had to hurt himself? She had decided to confront him about this on her walk home. 

\--------

Simon was waiting for Sophie by the bus stop after school, listening to his music from his phone through cheap earbuds. Sophie approaches behind him and taps him on the shoulder, his queue to pull his earbuds out. "Hey," he greeted. "How was school?"

"It was fine, how were your classes?" She asked.

"Nothing special, as usual."

It wasn't too much longer before their bus arrived and they both boarded. Sophie kept wanting to reach out and see if she couldn't feel any scars through his sleeves, but she knew better than to overstep her bounds like that.

Simon noticed how quiet she was. "What's on your mind?"

"Hm?" She was pulled from her thoughts, being forced back to facing him. She almost didn't process what he asked the first time. "Oh, I... I need to talk to- ask you about something."

Simon turned his body a little bit towards her to show she had his full attention. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I've been wondering something, it was something someone had told me." Sophie looked down at the ground and speaking in such a soft, broken up tone it was almost hard for Simon to hear her. "Do you hurt yourself?"

Simon froze, unsure what to say.

Sophie continued to explain to him. "I'm friends with Ørjan, and he's told me about an incident he's witnessed regarding you. I guess I just wanted to know from you if it was true or not."

Simon had to force himself to speak. "I mean... sometimes I do. But don't worry about it."

Sophie looked up at him. "I care about you, Simon. Whatever your reasons, I want to help if I can. You're a good person. And if you want to talk about it-"

"I don't," Simon said, cutting her off. "I really don't want to. I'm Okay."

"Alright, but I am here for you, Simon."

"Thanks," Simon said, sounding depressed. He had turned back forward again, and neither one said anything for the rest of the way until their departure when they told each other goodbye.


	7. This is Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon's hospital visit comes to an end.

It's been a few more weeks since Simon's stay. He's been visiting with Purnell what seemed like every 2 days, which overtime Simon had noted that Purnell's office slowly started to fill in the empty space with things such as a book case, a lamp, some generic pictures hanging on the wall, plants, and a few chairs that were always cleared to give Simon some room for his own chair. In that time he was prescribed antispychotics and antidepressants to see if it would help him cope. He claimed that he didn't feel any different while he was on the medications, and he did tell Purnell about how he's been hallucinating frequently, which then his dosage was increased. Simon did notice a change after the dosage increase but he wasn't sure if it was for the better.

Sophie still visited him when she was free from her own schedule and helped him take care of the dying flowers that sat next to him. She talked about replacing them with new ones, but Simon insisted that the current ones stay. He still drank the flower water at times when he was feeling particularly mentally ill, but not in front of anyone of course. He knew they'd stop him.

When he was alone Simon would be staring at the exposed scars on his arms. He was surprised more people here haven't asked him about it, or seemed to react more. He didn't think his parent's couldn't bring themselves to care, could they? He tried to be so careful around them to not expose himself when he's made new cuts, he's gone as far as still wearing his hoodies during hot weather to not tip them off, but when it came time for him to do the dishes he had to roll his sleeves up or wear a 3/4 sleeved shirt as to not get himself wet. His mind wonders back to the question he asked himself earlier: Do they just not care?

He felt the textured skin of his scars that he left. Purnell had wanted to talk to Simon about it, but Simon tried to be as dismissive as possible through the sessions which seemed to frustrate Purnell. Simon's fingers trailed down towards the particularly large scars on his wrists. These ones specifically caused him the most amount of pain. He had tried to kill himself, but it was either that his knife was too dull or he couldn't get the strength to cut deep enough to hit anything fatal.

He remembered a particular incident he had experienced in school. It was in the morning just hours after his first attempt when his wounds reopened and bled through the gauze he tried to bandage himself up with, and his sleeves. One person saw all the blood and screamed, causing the rest of his peers to look over and gawk at him. It was humiliating. Even the police arrived and checked him to see if he was carrying any weapons, which he wasn't. He was sent off to get evaluated and placed under specialized care. The whole time he was treated like shit. A burden. No one could gather an inkling of kindness it seemed. He tried everything he could to get out of there as soon as possible, promising everyone he was okay.

He never did talk to Sophie about his self mutilation, afraid of what she'd say. He didn't think that anyone would understand his reasons, and he did think at some point that maybe she might have. Even she never mentioned his scars during her visits, as visible as they are now, and Simon wasn't sure how to take it. Does she not care too? Though, he is grateful that she doesn't ask either. Simon thought about the other people Simon acquainted with, they either freaked out, berated him, or they demanded he never do it again. But he felt like he couldn't stop; not yet at least. Simon's been living with his habit for a few years now, and it's been the only coping mechanism he knew. He had tried other things such as exercise or writing, but it just wasn't the same. It's not like he didn't stop trying, and he still is, but sometimes it was the only solace he could find.

\--------

By the time Simon started getting comfortable living in the hospital he was trapped in, he was to be released today. His cast was finally taken off, and he's been put through some physical therapy throughout the week prior that caused him immense pain, which he was instructed that it were to be a weekly thing. He wasn't sure why the doctors instructed that he performed it, but he was sure they had their reasons.

The nurses took him off of his IV after informing him he was to go home. He had asked if he could be dressed in the clothes he came in with, and all he was told is that they threw it away because it was doused in his blood so it was unsafe to keep them. He thought that was bullshit. He had called his parents to inform them that he would need a change of clothes and a ride back home, which they then told him that they already got his apartment and filled it with furniture and food, ready for his arrival. He was disheartened about all of this, and without the morphine he was feeling particularly down. His parents arrived with a set of clothes for him which the nurses helped him get dressed in. Immediately after getting dressed another nurse walked in telling Simon that he had one more therapy appointment with Purnell before being allowed to leave. He didn't want to see that man again, but felt like he had no say in the matter.

During the visit he was quieter than usual, but still made occasional comments about what Purnell was saying to show that he's listening, and he is trying.

"It might be your last visit here in the hospital, but I still want you to come see me," Purnell stated after a while. "We've barely made progress, and I want to see you get better."

Simon thought to himself that there is no getting better from this. Simon looked down at his legs. Why do people want to help him now? Where was anyone from before?

"Do you think you can still come see me with regular therapy appointments?" Purnell questioned.

Simon didn't say anything, just stare at his legs.

Purnell sat up in his chair. "Simon, the pills by itself won't make you feel better, you have to do something more than that."

Simon looked up slightly, staring at Purnell's desk.

Purnell continued. "I recommend that you try a new modern treatment called cognitive therapy."

"What's... that?" Simon queried.

"Well, it's a set of exercises you do, a way to forget the past, all the bad memories and anxieties you have. Are you interested in books, Simon?" Purnell's voice was gentle yet stern.

Simon slowly shook his head. "I don't know. Why?"

"Alright, I just wanted to find out, because I want you to try out something. I want you to write a book, a book about how you feel."

Simon remembered how he briefly told Purnell about how he did try writing at some point, but it didn't go very far. Simon looked back down at his legs. How he feels, huh?

"Do you think you can do that?" Purnell asked, expecting an answer.

"I guess so. I can try," Simon said, unsure if he was truly willing to do this or not.

Purnell nodded, then used his knuckles to knock on his desk. "I can see you're certainly not willing to be here right now, so I'll let you leave. Check in with my assistant before leaving so she could set up your next appointment for you."

"Thank you," Simon said quietly. He was already thinking about this new form of therapy Purnell just suggested. How would he even talk about his feelings?

Purnell helped Simon wheel him out of the office and back to the front desk where he found his parents waiting for him, ready to drive him to his new home.


	8. It Gets Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon once again experiences ableism that pushes him over the edge. He does practice a different form of self harm near the end which it sectioned off with "--------"

Simon felt small under his father as he towered over him, and for some reason his father stood unusually close to him. Simon wanted to ask why this was, but he didn't feel like fighting again; he was already feeling depressed as it is. His father struggled to put Simon in the car for the ride over, and he hated his father touching him but he knew he had to put up with it in order to leave as he couldn't do it himself. The car ride was painfully quiet until they got close to his new flat, his mother started pointed out places nearby that Simon could either eat at or shop in. The shops that Simon could get a look at didn't seem to have a button near the door to open for him, so he gave up on the idea of visiting most places. It felt like a long car ride to Simon, and he spent his time looking at the surroundings, taking note of the new location he was in.

As soon as they arrived and seated back in his rusty chair he was wheeled inside. Simon took note of what the flat complex looked like, it was very generic and looked like the interior needed to be updated desperately, and he loved that about it. But despite the place filling his aesthetic needs, he still hated knowing this was his home now, and he started telling himself that this place was shit. Even the elevator needed to be replaced entirely, as it creaked with the slightest movement inside, and bounced when it was in motion. When it hit the 3rd floor the elevator crawled to a stop and bounced even more when it fully halted and opened it's doors to let its occupants free. Simon was wheeled down the hallway to his new home. He took note that his apartment's number was "302" as he was pushed inside.

As soon as he had entered the place, a wall of what smelled like rotting wood wafted in his face. Is it something he was going to have to just get use to? He was grateful that the floors were wooden, as he didn't think he'd do well with carpeted flooring. His parents gave him the short tour of everything inside, showing him the meal options, and giving him advice on how to cook for himself on the stove, using the wooden spoons to turn the dials. They did put more food and dishes in the cupboards which were out of his reach, as if they forgot he couldn't reach that far.

He looked at the furniture a little more, wheeling himself towards the living room, he noticed how it looked like everything sure wasn't new and they probably plucked it off from the side of the street. The couch didn't look comfortable even if he wanted to sit in it. There was a TV in the corner, which was bigger than what he use to have, but it still looked outdated. Also probably picked up from the street. He decided to look in the bedroom, he discovered that all of his old stuff was in there, including his bed which was neatly made, most likely by his mom. He did notice a new addition of a full-length mirror that was propped against the wall. This whole apartment felt like a tomb to him. It was very small and it enclosed him.

He did notice that his plant from his room was missing. It wasn't on the windowsill, or in his room. He asked his mom about it and she claimed that it was starting to die, so she tossed it. He wanted to argue that it was savable, but he still didn't feel like arguing as he still felt defeated. Why fight this? Nothing's going to change, nevertheless for the better.

He pulled out the pack of cigarettes from his hoodie pocket and started to light a cigarette, then wheeling himself back into the living room to find his parents sitting on the couch watching something on the news.

"Oh, honey, don't smoke in here," his mother began to protest.

"It's my place," he argued. "Do you want one?"

His mother gave a disgusted face and shook her head no. "Honestly, I don't know why you insist on keeping that nasty habit."

"It helps," Simon claimed. He wasn't lying. He had dealt with hallucinations before, and whenever he smoked they seemed to have stopped. He bribed himself long ago into thinking that smoking was mentally healthy for him.

Everyone was quiet besides the occasional comments his parents would say to each other about what was on the news. Simon rolled over to the kitchen sink to tap the ashes off of the tip of his cigarette with the current absence of an ash tray. He pulled his phone from his hoodie pocket and began texting Sophie to inform her his new address and asking if she wanted to come over. She messaged back almost immediately saying how she'll bring a bottle of wine to celebrate his new independence.

He didn't know why everyone tried to convince him that this was independence; if anything he needs people in his life now more than ever, and it seemed like everyone is trying to get him as far away as possible at this point. He couldn't do this alone, this of all things.

But he felt like he couldn't ask anything of anybody.

It took about an hour before a knock was heard on his door and Simon's mom got up to answer it. The door opened and Sophie quickly looked again at the apartment number before asking "Hi, is Simon here?"

"Yes, he's in the kitchen," his mother stated, moving aside to let Sophie in. "It's nice to see you again, dear." She patted Sophie on the arm as a friendly gesture, but Sophie didn't like being touched by people without her explicit permission to do so.

Sophie walked in and greeted Simon, who was on his second cigarette by now. "Hi, Simon, I brought the wine to celebrate!" She held up the wine a little higher to show him what she was holding.

"Oh, wonderful," his mother said entering in the conversation. "The cups are up there." She pointed at an open cabinet where there were glass cups, obviously out of Simon's reach.

Sophie looked up at the cups, and briefly down towards Simon, immediately noticing the problem. She brought down 4 cups one cup at a time as to be so careful to not break them and begun to fill them half way. "So, what do you think of your new place, Simon?"

"It's a place," he said without giving away any emotion. "I'll live with it."

Sophie first gave a glass to Simon, then passed out the rest of the cups to his parents who had gathered near the kitchen, saving the last one for herself.

Simon's dad stood up, holding his glass up. "I'd like to propose a toast to my one and only son. To his health, and his long-lasting life. I hope you enjoy your independence, boy."

Everyone but Simon raised their glasses towards him, his parents then clinked their glasses together and began to down its contents. Sophie reached over and rubbed Simon's arm, before drinking a little bit. Simon didn't touch his glass at all, except to place it on the counter near him. Simon continued to smoke his cigarette, and stare down at his legs, occasionally looking up only to tap the ashes off into the sink.

His parents placed their cups on the dining table before announcing how they both would be leaving now. His mom tried to give Simon a hug, and his dad a handshake, before leaving the two alone.

As soon as they left, Simon dropped his second cigarette in the sink, then quickly drank the wine that was poured out for him.

Sophie noticed he was quiet, and how his demeanor quickly changed after his parents left. "How are you doing, Simon?" she asked.

"I don't know... How are you?" He avoided looking at her, then wheeled himself towards the living room.

Sophie followed. "I'm worried about you."

"I'll be fine, it's just something I'll have to get use to, I guess."

Sophie dragged one of the dining room chairs over next to him to sit by him, and begun rubbing the space between his shoulder blades. "You don't have to be okay," she said. "You can take your time to adjust to everything. This is a huge change for you, it'll take some getting use to."

Simon was quiet before asking her for more wine. She poured him another glass and handed it to him, which he downed quickly once again. The two were quiet for a while.

"Is there anything you'd want to do?" Sophie asked.

Simon remembered that he needed a journal, and an ash tray. "Could you take me out to one of the shoppes nearby? I need to pick up a few things."

"Sure, Simon. We could do that." Sophie was thinking more along the lines of playing board games, but this works too, it's still getting him adjusted to the area so it would still help him.

Simon felt inside his pockets, wondering if he had his wallet on him, which he didn't. Maybe it was still in his room the night of the black day? He wheeled himself into his bedroom to try and find it. He looked in a few of the nightstand drawers as Sophie hovered nearby him.

"What are you looking for?" she asked.

"Wallet," he simply stated.

"Do you need help?"

"Sure, could you check the living room?" he asked.

So she did. He still looked over his room, trying to figure out where his parents hid it, but to no avail neither one was able to find it. With each passing minute of missing it he grew increasingly frustrated. There were a few unpacked boxes on the floor of his room, but he couldn't reach it without feeling like he was going to fall out of his chair, Sophie returned to tell him she couldn't find it, so she looked in the boxes for him. As typical as it is, the wallet was in the last box she looked in, hiding underneath a few books that had pressed it flat. She handed it to him after exclaiming that she found it, and then headed out down the elevator and into the open air. He stared at his legs the whole time Sophie wheeled him out from his apartment. Simon missed going outside, and he missed the fresh air. He missed being able to walk wherever he wanted, and he missed his routine.

"So," Sophie started. "Where to?"

Simon shrugged. "I'm not too familiar with this part of town."

Sophie looked back and forth between each side of the road, and up and down the roads. "Let's go this way," she said, guessing on where to go. "This is going to be an adventure."

Simon looked around at his surroundings, and at the people. They all acted just like they did when he was in the hospital, seeing him and quickly looking away. Was it always like this? He couldn't remember, and he wasn't sure if he was being overly sensitive about it.

They eventually came upon a small shop that was filled with all sort of knickknacks. She held open the door for him while he wheeled himself inside. The aisles were a bit tight, and it barely gave him much leeway for his arms to continue rolling himself around, so Sophie had to continue to push him around. He felt his anger starting to spark like a lighter that was out of fuel. They slowly made their way around, looking at everything in their surroundings. Simon picked out a generic ash tray and laid it on his lap.

"Is that all you were needing?" Sophie asked.

"One thing, yeah, but I'm looking for something else as well."

"What is it? I can help look for it if you want me to."

"A journal," Simon stated. "But not like a daily journal with calendars and shit in it, just something I can write in."

Sophie nodded, understanding him, but he couldn't see her.

They both couldn't really find what he needed, so they agreed to pay for what he had and move on. Up at the register, the cashier didn't look at Simon except for a small glance, he didn't speak to him either. Strictly to Sophie. He asked her if She found everything okay, despite Simon being the one to lay the item on the desk. He told Her what the price total was, expecting Her to pay despite Simon being the one to pull the money out his wallet. After the transaction the cashier only looked at Sophie and told Her to have a nice day, and thanks.

Simon started to feel increasingly angry about this.

Sophie suggested they both find more of an office supply store, or maybe a Dollar General to get what he needed. Simon didn't respond as he stewed over what just happened. She pulled out her phone to find directions to the nearest store that might have journals. He started leading him in a different direction down a couple of roads, and they both commented on some of the shops and buildings around them, saying how it'd be nice to visit some of them sometime.

After about 30 minutes of walking she found the store was looking for then pushed Simon inside. It was a better in here than how it was in the last store, it was bigger and brighter, and everything was more organized. They found the aisle for paper products which Simon browsed, looking at the small selection of actual journals, he picked out the most plain looking one there is, a brown hard cover journal with nothing written on the front. He thought about finding a pack of pens to buy, but figured he had at least one somewhere in one of the boxes in his bedroom.

"Was there anything else you needed while we're here?" Sophie asked.

"No, but I am getting hungry, would you want to eat at somewhere on the way back?" Simon asked. "I'll pay."

"Sure, that sounds nice. Maybe at a cafe where we both could get some coffee? A place caught my eye on the way here." Sophie said, almost giddy.

"That does sound nice," Simon said, feeling his worries slowly fading away.

At the register he laid the journal at the counter once again and looked up at the cashier who's eyes immediately darted towards Sophie. "Did you find everything okay today?" the cashier asked her.

Sophie simply nodded.

The cashier scanned the sticker that was on the book and told her the price.

"Excuse me," Simon said. "I'm the one paying here."

The Cashier only looked at Simon until he gave the cashier his money. The cashier tried to give Sophie the change, which she took and handed to Simon. The cashier then tried to hand Sophie the bag, which again she took, and handed to Simon. "Have a nice day, and thanks!"

Simon felt his anger boiling. "This is fucking bullshit," he muttered under his breath.

Sophie quickly wheeled him out from the store before asking him if he was alright.

"No, I'm not okay," he vented. "People have been treating me different this whole time. They barely even look at me."

Sophie wasn't sure what to say, but still wanted to try to keep the mood light. "Maybe they just don't know how to act."

"To what? To seeing a cripple?"

Sophie was shocked. "Simon, don't say that." Sophie started to look at her surroundings, afraid of gaining attention. "I don't think they meant to do that." 

"I can't believe you're defending them, you of all people," Simon accused, exasperated.

"Okay, I'm sorry," Sophie said giving up. "Let's just go."

The two were quiet, Sophie let Simon steam as she pushed him back to his flat. Simon wasn't aware of his surroundings during the walk back and was surprised to see that Sophie had brought him back to his apartment complex. "Wait," Simon started to protest. "I thought we were going to have lunch?"

Sophie tried her best to un-clench her jaw to sound more like herself as to not give away her emotions. "I remembered I had to go back to school, and I'm running late," she lied. "We can try this again next time."

Simon was quiet as she pushed him inside the elevator. His mind was racing, filled with accusatory thoughts of her, but he decided to not let this situation get any worse. He felt defeated, like he was miles and miles away from everyone and anyone. He thought Sophie might have been close, but right now she felt like an ocean's width apart from him. This awkward moment they both found each other in felt like seconds lasted minutes.

Eventually they made it back to his room and Sophie pushed him inside and let him go. Simon tried to turn around so he'd be able to close the door for her, but the entrance was too narrow to properly maneuver, so she insisted that she closed it for him, then wished him a good bye and that she hopes he likes his new place. With the click of the door closing and her footsteps receding he was alone again. Simon felt like he had no one else to blame but himself.

He wheeled himself into the kitchen to grab his cigarette pack and started to light up another one before fishing out the ash tray he just got. He laid it on the dining room table and sat there quietly. His parents had left his TV on, but he couldn't pay attention to what was happening on screen, he was focused on staring at his legs thinking about how worthless they are and how much he hates the entire situation he found himself in. He started to feel like his question that he kept asking himself in the hospital is answered. He had convinced himself that Sophie really was treating him differently.

\--------

Simon pulled out a bottle of his antidepressants from his hoodie pocket and took a few extra pills from the bottle that he dry-swallowed, praying it would make him feel better. A few minutes passed before he decided that it wasn't enough. He grabbed the open wine bottle from the kitchen and returned to the dining table to drink. He knew this was a bad decision, but felt like he wasn't above it. Before he knew it he had a buzz but he didn't feel any better which prompted him to take a few more pills, hit his legs as hard as he could which he couldn't feel, and drank some more wine. He repeated this behavior until he blacked out.


	9. A Sadness Runs Through Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon drank some more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention in the earlier chapters that Simon needed back surgery due to the car accident so i'm kinda scrambling here orz also this will be the last chapter of Simon getting drunk. sorry its so short !

Simon awoke 4 hours later, peeling his face off from the dining room table and realizing he threw up a little while he was blacked out. He felt the weight of his recent decision hit him hard, realizing he's the only one still who has to take care of him in the aftermath. He cleaned up the spew using a couple of napkins that were laid out on the table, then decided to try and take a bath to finish cleaning himself off. It's been a while since he's actually been able to wash himself and not by a nurse who's been instructed to scrub him down with a sponge because of his new back scars.

He suddenly remembers the surgery... He's still not suppose to lift heavy things, nevertheless drag his whole body around. He quietly contemplated on what to do. He REALLY wanted to get properly clean, but he wasn't sure if he'd even be allowed to do this. He wheeled himself back to the kitchen and grabbed his phone. He had placed his phone in the bathroom on the rim of the tub as a backup just in case he couldn't do this alone.

He pushed his chair as close to the tub as possible, locked the wheels, swung his legs into the tub, and used his arms to slowly let himself down from his chair and towards the rim of the tub. As soon as he was sitting on the rim as best as he could, he tried to turn to lower himself towards the bottom, but ended up hurting his back instantly learning that was a bad idea, so instead he leaned forward towards the wall in front of him, using the tub's rim on each side to slowly lower himself inside. A success. He threw off his clothes and shoes and let them lay in a crumpled pile on the seat of his chair.

He set up his bath with warm water and the first thing he tried to do was massage his legs to get the blood to properly flow through them, which this practice was doctor recommended. It upset him that he still couldn't feel his legs or feet, but tried to imagine what it could feel like. He washed himself off, then drained the water just to refill the bath to relax a while in. As uncomfortable as it was, and despite the pain, he still tried to enjoy being able to get clean properly, or as clean as he could be.

He started to feel the creeping sadness that comes with loneliness starting to settle in his heart again. He remembered everything from earlier; the neglect, the invalidation, the abandonment. He wished the wine stayed a little longer in his system so he wouldn't have to think about this. He contemplated on going to the nearest liquor store to get something possibly a little stronger, but he didn't want to leave his house again for today. An idea sparked as he reached for his phone and searched in his contacts for Derek.

\--------

Derek arrived, walking into Simon's apartment without knocking, raising up a bottle of vodka in one hand, and a bottle of orange juice in the other. "Hey man! Ready to get plastered?"

"Hey, Derek," Simon greeted.

"Whoo, it sure is musty in here. I'm going to open a window," Derek claimed while walking over to the living room's windows, opening the shutters and raising the glass. He deeply inhaled the air that came wafting in. "Much better, isn't it?"

Simon shrugged. "I've already gotten use to it."

Derek gave him a face of disbelief. "I highly doubt that. You've only been here for... what, 7 hours?"

Simon was a little shocked, has it been 7 hours already? How would Derek know that?

"Anyway, are you ready to get your ass kicked?" Derek pulled out his Nintendo DS case from his back pocket and started to unzip it to retrieve his handheld gaming device.

Shit. "I wasn't expecting this. I don't know where my DS is," he confessed.

Derek dropped his game and case on the couch. "I'll help you look for it," he said, giving the living room a quick glance before heading straight to Simon's bedroom. He immediately started looking in some of his boxes that were now strewn across his bedroom floor, finding it fairly quickly. He walked back into the living room and handed it to Simon. "What game do you have in it?" he asked as he was connecting to the internet's wi-fi.

Simon quickly popped the cartridge out from his DS before answering "Call of Duty."

"Oh sweet, me too," Derek replied.

Simon quickly connected his DS to the wi-fi. "Did you want to connect and play together?"

"Nah," Derek said. "I'm on a part that I gotta beat before I can do anything else. I'll let you know when I've passed it."

"Oh, okay." Simon didn't want to show his disappointment, so he quietly played his own game, listening to both of their games playing separately. After a few minutes Simon grew bored and wheeled himself into the kitchen to get something to eat. Simon offered to get Derek something too, but he only said he's fine with having soda.

Just then Derek's phone rang, he paused his game and looked at his phone. "Ah, shit. My main bro's calling," he said before excusing himself outside of Simon's apartment to answer it.

Simon understood what he meant by his "main bro". He didn't understand why Derek insisted on calling him that.

Derek quickly rushed back in to gather his things. "Fuck, bro. I forgot about my daaattteee... he called me informing he's going to kill me. I hope I can still make it in time, man, but sorry, I gotta get." He rushed back to the door. "I'll be back, take care." With that, Derek was gone again.

Simon should be use to his exit strategy, always in a rush to get somewhere he forgets about, but as of recent it's been really bothering him. He wants someone who's willing to stick around no matter what. He's lonely, he acknowledges he's lonely, and he also acknowledges that being lonely has been contributing to the slow crumble of his mental health. He didn't want to be alone anymore, and this was furthering his question of whether there's anything he could do to not be alone anymore, which to him seemed doubtful now.

His eyes wandered over to his next bad decision, then poured himself a screwdriver.

\--------

He was 2 more cigarettes in and 3\4 of the way through the bottle, he was out of orange juice so he just drank the vodka straight, being drunk made it easier to ignore the burn. He started writing in his journal, to put his thoughts down of what he was feeling that day as he started drinking himself into a stupor. He thought he saw Derek come back in and try to talk to Simon, but whatever Simon said made Derek look angry and leave again; this had made Simon feel bad so he finished off the bottle.

At some point Simon had fallen out of his chair, and was laughing so hard about falling out, he felt like he laughed for over an hour. He found it funny that he couldn't reach the bottle anymore, he thought laughing alone funny, and he felt like not being able to get back up funny. He crawled towards the couch and somehow managed to pull himself up onto it, he turned on the TV since the remote was on the cushion, and laughed at the news. As soon as the alcohol started to wear off he found himself crying, he was crying because he heard bad news from the TV; then he was crying about crying, then crying because he was alone, and with every new bad thing he could think of he cried harder and harder until he fell asleep.

But he couldn't recall the events that took place when he woke up again groggy with swollen eyes, and a sharp pain from his back.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie visits her parents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should have included like... what months this all takes place in, but from what im assuming from the cry of fear time placement for simons accident happened near halloween in october (with a jack-o-lantern being present and all in the introductory level of the first chapter), and the end goal is the game's release which was in February  
> Sorry for not including this sooner ! didn't register to me to do that until now. ill try to get my shit together from now on xoxo 🖤

The next day Sophie woke up, performed her daily morning ritual, and headed out for school. It was average as always, going to the same classes, meeting the same people, talking about the same topics in a different way, average. She did check her phone what seemed like every 10 minutes to see if anyone texted her, specifically Simon, and when nothing came she couldn't decide what to do about it, or what to think of it, so she tried to do nothing and think nothing of it.

She went home after her classes and started to make herself a meal for dinner after realizing she missed breakfast and lunch. She sighed, a tad frustrated with herself. She prepared a meal for her cat, Bunny, using eggs and some sausage. She had bought the sausage special for her cat, keeping in mind of the sodium content and making sure there's no garlic or onion powder used for it. She knew her cat didn't need anything gourmet, especially with him being lazy and all, but she felt sorry that her cat didn't have a whole lot going on in his life, nothing exciting. He rarely plays with the toys she bought him, or use the cat tower other than to sleep on the lower shelves, even with encouragement and catnip he just wasn't interested. He seemed content with being lazy and lounge around, soaking up what sunlight beamed through the windows. Sophie thought to herself how she wished she could be as stress free as her feline companion.

She picked him up after he was done with his meal and placed him on the couch next to her as she watched Scrubs on TV and ate her own meal, occasionally grooming him by brushing his long orange fur with his cat brush. Bunny could probably be picked up upside down and still be content as he's possibly the world's most trusting cat imaginable. Sophie is able to touch his paws without him retracting them, rub his stomach, check his teeth, and give him a bath with little to no problems. Even at times when she's having a crying fit, he will come to comfort her until she feels better again. She loved him more than anything, and she couldn't bear the thought of losing him in any way. She sometimes wishes she'd die before he does.

A few days pass just like this, still checking her phone to see if Simon texted her, but still nothing. She wanted to message him first, but she was afraid of bothering him. He does know that she's there for him whenever he needs her, right?

Within her patient passing of days the fall weather slowly crept into the crawl into winter's arms in November. There is occasional snowfall that will last a couple of hours at most, but nothing lasting and the snow doesn't build. Sophie always enjoyed the colder weather more. She loved being bundled up with a warm drink in her hand and enjoying the unusual quiet atmosphere that the cold weather brought. With the cold weather coming on, she had carried in her plants from outside to save them from the cold air to try and keep them alive throughout the winter, which always seemed a little impossible every year. She tried rearranging her room to make it feel better, or new, and it gave her a small boost of excitement but like the snowfall it didn't seem to last long. She also took her time to break out the boxes of her winter clothes she had kept under her bed and replaced her fall wardrobe with it, still trying to find a distraction from her worries.

After she replaced a few of her clothes, in the early morning, she found her box of her jackets and winter hoodies, pulling it out she found her green parka she loved so much. It was a little worn, but she swore she'd wear it until it falls apart. She's had it for a few years now, and it became a comfort item for her. It was her first purchase after she got her first paycheck, in fact it was the warmest thing she's ever had. She decided to put it on, and checked herself out in the mirror, admiring how she looked in this coat. She figured since she had her coat on, she might as well put on some shoes and head out somewhere, deciding to visit her parents house. She filled her travel mug with coffee and decided to head out to visit her parents. It's been a while, and it'd be nice for her to catch up.

She took the bus, and it was about a 15 minute ride until she reached her destination. She didn't live too far away from them and probably could have walked, but she didn't feel like walking that day. She walked up to their door and knocked three times. It wasn't long before her mother, Adis, answered the door.

"Hello, sweetie," Adis beamed. "How are you?"

She wrapped Sophie up in a tight hug before she could answer. "I'm fine, and how are you?"

"Better now that you're here," she said before turning her head back into the house and shouted "Karl, your daughter's here!" Adis then proceeded to usher Sophie inside and insist she gets comfy.

Sophie took off her coat and hung it on the coat rack right next to their door, and quietly closed the door. It wasn't much longer before Sophie saw her dad peek around the corner from his office door down the hallway. "Hello, Sophie, glad you could visit!" His head dipped back inside the room. "I'll be out there as soon as I'm done grading these papers." Her dad became a teacher as of recent years, and she still couldn't decide if it were for his better health or not. He was able to learn how to be more kind, but it added new stressors to his life.

"Come sit, sit. Tell me how things have been. You haven't called in a while." Her mother was trying to convince Sophie to sit on their couch in the living room and stared intently on Sophie, completely focused on her.

"Yeah, sorry, I got busy," Sophie said as an excuse. "A lot has happened these past 2 months."

Adis put on a very cartoonish face that reflected sorrow. "Oh no, what happened?"

"Do you remember Simon?" Sophie asked.

"Of course I do, you never did bring many friends home," she assured.

"Well, he was in a terrible accident, and he might never walk again."

Her mom's face deepened. "Oh, honey, how terrible."

"I've been trying to help, but he's been so... angry. I'm sure it's from what he went through, I just wish he wouldn't take it out on me."

Her mom placed her hand on Sophie's knee, which she immediately retracted remembering Sophie's aversion to touch. "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that, sweetheart. I hope he feels better soon."

"I've been trying to be there for him, but his anger scares me," she said, but before she could say anything more her dad, Karl, came out from his office, stretching while coming down the hallway.

Karl grunted while finishing up with stretching and reached the living room. "Well, what brings you here?"

"I was just walking by when I thought I should visit," Sophie claimed as an excuse. "It's been a while."

"It sure has been," Karl stated while taking a seat in his arm chair. "So, how's school?"

"School is great, I'm doing really well. I've made some new friends-"

Adis cut her off "Oh that's wonderful news! I'm so glad to hear that."

"But I'm still not sure what to do for a career after this is all over."

Karl cleared his throat and said "Well, you have a few more years to think it over. But try to think about your strengths and your weaknesses. Is there anything you want to improve on? Anything you want to learn more about?"

Sophie shrugged.

Her mom spoke up. "You've always been a really sweet girl, Sophie. Have you considered a career in which you could share your compassion with others?"

"Like nursing?" Sophie questioned.

"Something like that, yes, or maybe a doctor?"

Karl hummed in agreement. "Doctors are very well respected, and you're a smart problem solver, that'd be a very good career for you."

"I don't know..." Sophie trailed off, unsure of whether she should agree to what they're suggesting.

"Think about it," her mother said softly. "But in your own time. You know yourself better than anyone else; especially us." She turned to look at Karl who was sitting adjacent from the two.

Karl simply nodded in agreement. "It's a very good field to get into."

"I'll think about it," Sophie said, hoping that would be the end to that conversation.

"So anyway, you were talking about Simon..?" Adis said.

Karl groaned, which everyone noted. Sophie took that as a hint that he still didn't like Simon all too much. "I don't know about that boy. What's he been up to lately?"

"He's been paralyzed from the waist down," Sophie said.

Karl stood upright. "No kidding? What happened?"

"He was pinned up against a wall by a car. There were scarce details about the driver, but media says he's been apprehended and undergoing medical treatment as well." Sophie wasn't sure why the news hadn't reached them yet. Didn't they still keep up with the news?

Adis tsked. "That's horrible."

Sophie noted that Karl didn't say anything about the news. "I've been helping him. I've spent a few days visiting him in the hospital when I could."

"This hasn't interfered with your schooling, has it?" Karl asked.

"N-no," Sophie stuttered out. "I'm still going to school."

"Good," he stated, and failed to think of anything else to say.

"He has his own place now," Sophie said, trying to keep the conversation going. "It's on the opposite end of town."

"Is it nice?" Adis asked.

"It's... what he chose," Sophie didn't want to lie, but she honestly felt like he could have chosen a better flat. "It's wheelchair accessible, and it's home to him."

Adis sensed Sophie's disapproval. "As long as he's happy, that's all that mattered," she said as she started to stand up. "We're about to have breakfast, did you eat yet?"

Both Karl and Sophie said "No" at the same time.

Everyone slipped off into the kitchen following Adis, Karl sat on the bar stool next to the kitchen's island, and Sophie helped Adis cook pancakes, eggs, and prepared fruit to put on top. Sophie also took this opportunity to make more coffee to refill her travel mug. They all sat around the island after serving the food on individual plates, and Sophie's parents caught her up on how they've been doing. Karl is still going to his AA meetings, and still going to therapy, and Adis recently picked up crafts as a hobby such as sewing, knitting, and making various DIY projects.

They turned Sophie's old room into Adis's crafts room, which was a complete mess. Sophie knew Adis had arthritis and tried to ask if it was healthy for her, but she claimed she was on medication now that helps her throughout the day. She excitedly showed Sophie all the things she's made, such as a quilt, a few dolls by both yarn and fabric, and insisted Sophie took the quilt and one of the dolls, which Sophie was more than happy to.

Her day was good so far, and she was happy she visited.

She hoped Simon's day was going well too.


	11. Honey, I'm home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon comes back from the hospital once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter because it's long paragraphs

Simon was on his way back home from the hospital. He hurt his spine and received x-rays for an examination, and was kept there for a few days while they made sure he had proper bed rest. They also confiscated his phone after noticing the new bruises on his legs, and wanted to keep him on a constant watch to make sure he wouldn't hurt himself any further. Simon mostly watched whatever was on TV and kept trying to convince the nurses to up his dose of morphine in his IV bag, which they denied.

During his stay Purnell visited every other day to try to talk to him, which Simon didn't want to talk to him at all. He had to lay there and listen to Purnell's questions, and giving him half-assed answers, and Purnell pressed how Simon needs to talk about his trauma by writing it down, and stated that he wouldn't ask to read it. Purnell also constantly asked how Simon's been sleeping, of course Simon gave him a sassy answer but Purnell tried to get more information about Simon's sleeping habits, and what his dreams were about. Simon hasn't ever slept well since the accident, nevertheless hardly well at all for as long as he could remember, and he couldn't see why Purnell insisted on knowing these things. Purnell divulged his theory to Simon...

Most of the time he laid there talking to any angel or deity that could hear him, and begged for them to fix him and let him leave the bed. Being bed bound was the worst thing he's discovered from his newfound disability by far. He wasn't allowed to sit up, he wasn't allowed to roll over without a nurse to help him, and there was someone nearby who kept a close eye on him at all times. He loathed everything about that visit, but at least he's "free" now, or at least that's what everyone keeps telling him. After a week the day finally came for him to be brought home.

They loaded him up into the back of a white van, typed his address into a GPS, and started to head out. The whole ride back to his apartment Simon was still stewing over his new life, angry and bitter. Simon had decided to keep tight-lipped to try and not let his anger spill out. They still instructed that he be put on bed rest for a few more days, and set him up to have a daily visiting nurse to check up on him and make sure he's being taken care of. The one nurse, one with her last name of Svensson, was the one who drove him back, along with another male nurse who chatted the whole ride there.

When they arrived they helped him back inside and the male nurse automatically started to make him something quick to eat while the other nurse helped him into his bed. She helped Simon prop himself up on his bed using pillows, trying to get him as comfortable as possible. The other nurse brought in a sandwich on a plate and a cup of water. They watched and talked amongst themselves while Simon quietly ate his sandwich. They tried to also rope Simon into the conversation but he was very dismissive and hardly said anything except for occasionally shrugging his shoulders and fake smiling to show that he was pretending to listen. He couldn't care less about what they had to say.

Simon had started to find himself still visiting with Purnell in his mind. Telling him about things he doesn't feel like he could talk about. As soon as Simon finished his plate one of the nurses took it from him and washed it in the sink before drying and putting it back where he found it. They then announced that they'd be leaving for an hour to take a lunch break but that they'd be back to finish out the rest of their shifts. The male nurse asked him if there's anything he wanted before heading out. Something clicked inside Simon's head before replying that he'd want his book that was on the kitchen table, and the pen that should have been next to it. He did just that, and Simon waited for them to leave before diving into reading whatever he wrote the last time he was here. He honestly couldn't remember anything he had written, and he was genuinely curious what contents he had left from his drunken stupor. He waited a few moments after hearing the door close and lock before cracking open his book, wanting to be sure that they weren't going to come back suddenly. He gazed over the words at first, he had noticed how some of the ink was smudged and his writing was sloppy and emotional.

> "I call this the black day. Do you know why? The sky was the darkest that I've ever seen it before. Pitch. Black. Not a star in the sky, no moon, and I wondered if there were any clouds but I couldn't see any. It was an empty endless void that hung above my head, I could have sworn that if I had a ladder I could have reached up and used the void as a noose to fasten around my neck and jumped. I was simply walking down the street minding my own FUCKING business and you know what happened? I heard a man calling out for help, and crawling around on the ground. I was startled from seeing someone like that, but I immediately went in to help him and see what I could do. I sure learned my lesson about looking out for anyone else. He ended up getting his head ran over flat by the tire anyway. Oh? Did I mention a tire? Well I was hit by a fucking car! I saw it coming right for us, but I couldn't move my feet fast enough. Oh and my feet? They'll never work again. That piece of shit driver broke my spine in multiple places that's irreparable. I immediately blacked out the last second I knew it was about to hit me. The darkest day of my life. I remember waking up and being on the ground and seeing blood fucking everywhere. I remember waking up again and seeing a man above me; if he said anything I can't remember, or I didn't hear. I couldn't tell if I were dying, and there was a part of me that wished I was. Another part told me that I should have ended my life much, much sooner. I felt like I was losing my mind while not being completely conscious. What does that say about me?"

Simon closed the book and put it aside next to him on his bed. He thought he remembered laughing around the time of writing this, and he begun to wonder if he was laughing while writing this? Wasn't the original intention to keep this as a daily journal? He picked back up the book again and started reading his words again, and heavily focused on the last 2 sentences as if he were trying to decipher what he meant by that. He picked up his pen and stared blankly at the next empty page. He remembered a trick he heard about sparking an idea and decided to try it.

He placed the tip of the pen to the page, and started to make small loops in a long line where a sentence should have been. He thought to himself all the while. "I have been having a lot of nightmares again, ever since the accident." He started on a second line, continuing to only make loops. His thought continues, "Maybe I could write out about my dreams. Purnell insisted that dreams have meaning, saying how it's a message from my subconscious," he started to remember one dream in particular he had more than a week ago. He continued drawing loops for the whole page until he ran out of lines. He then started to make a spiral starting in the center of the page and making circles around it, covering the page entirely in thick lines and black ink until he felt satisfied, all the while pondering how he could portray how he feels, and what he's been through without giving himself away. He believed no one would understand him, even if he was the victi- no, he's not a victim, he kept telling himself this, he's not a victim and he never will be ever again. Soon enough his whole page was entirely covered with no white page left to show through the dark ink.

The two nurses came back and he tucked his book and pen underneath his pillow, safe until he's able to write again, but until then he's decided to think about what story he could tell. 

He didn't notice how his phone's text tone kept going off the entire time.


	12. Misanthropic Loner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon goes through the motions. (Some details left vague because I want it to be open for interpretation but I'll add my theories to the end of this chapter.

Simon stayed up the entire night after the two nurses left and wrote half of a chapter in his book, detailing some of his nightmares and his anxieties in a metaphoric design. He decided that he'd write it like a horror survival game, thinking that's basically what his life is. He felt like he had to fight to survive this entire time. He fought off figures with no definite feature outside of clothes, they looked monstrous however, like something human but not quite right. The first one attacked him with a hammer, a hammer he refused to touch because he felt uneasy about that weapon. Besides he has his knife, and it seemed to have done the trick.

He wandered the city trying to return to home again, when he got a text message from a number he didn't recognize asking for his help, and giving him instructions of where they were at.

What next he started writing about made his stomach turn, the same sickness he's all too familiar with. He had to pause and take a minute to calm himself down before continuing on with his writing. He started writing about a man, a horrible man. It hurt him to add details of this man in his book, but he felt like he needed to. No one's ever going to read this, right? He should be use to thinking about the topic of the man he's writing about, as his mind will occasionally race with these horrible thoughts, but it never gets easier, and he felt like he'll always suffer with this alone, and quietly. No one will ever know. Though, some days all he feels like doing is screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs, but would anyone care enough to listen to what he had to say? He doubted it.

He kept writing in his own death, because that's the main component of how he felt, but decided there's still more of a story to tell before scribbling it out and rewriting what he wanted to say. He made sure to write it more like a story instead of a diary. But he still fell for the same idea, writing in his death by the hands of a child with a knife, a screaming girl who had sharpened blades for arms and legs, the scratching out how he died and continuing on the story as if nothing ever happened.

The nurse Svensson came back in the morning to help him take care of himself, which again he hid his book and never talked about it. She would rub his legs to make sure the blood kept circulating properly and he assumed that it would have felt like to receive a massage like that if he could feel it, and he hated the fact he couldn't. The nurse tried to talk to him to start a conversation but he was dismissive as always; he could tell that doing that was making the nurse a little disheartened, but he couldn't care. They wouldn't even be here if it wasn't their job to take care of him. He started to think that she wouldn't even be talking to him if there were literally anyone else around besides him.

Svensson would sit on his couch and watched TV practically the entire time she was there, with Simon's permission, she would occasionally make him a meal, or a snack, and cleaned the dishes after, but she mostly kept to herself after giving up on keeping a conversation with Simon. At times she would also get up and leave to call someone after asking Simon if he'd be alone for a few minutes, which he always took offense to and his answer had gone from "Yeah, sure, you don't have to ask me" to "I'll already be dead by the time you get back." The nurse hated the later answers.

For most of the day Simon laid in bed and watched youtube videos on his phone, which was a difficult task alone, and his arms would occasionally get tired and weary from holding it up to where he could see it while laying in bed. Even having a cigarette was quite the task, trying to make sure none of the ashes fell onto his face, or worse, the embers. The nurse did make sure to give him his ashtray and placed it next to him where he'd be able to tap the ashes off into the tray without looking. When he was smoking he'd occasionally hear his nurse shout "Those things won't help you get any better." He hated when she did that.

He noticed people had tried to get ahold of him either by calling or texting him, but he always ignored it without looking to see who it was.

At night after she'd make him a meal she'd once again massage his legs and take care of him before leaving for the night, which was his queue to start writing again. He'd use the flashlight from his phone to light the monotone pages of his book.

\--------

Another week passed by just like this before Simon was able to finally be mobile again in his chair. He felt a little bit of relief that he was able to finally move around more on his own. Though now the nurse is having him to arm exercises by making him lift weights that she'd bring daily, and various stretches. She took him back to the hospital for his physical therapy, and his mental therapy which were all scheduled conveniently close together. That day felt like time had slowed to a crawl for him and by the time it was 2 pm it had already felt like 9 pm. He was tired, exhausted, and of course bitter above all.

On the drive back he watched the world go by outside his window, taking in the scenery, and trying to memorize streets and the layout of the town so he could write more in depth detail about the world around his city. It was cold, and the day was dark from the heavy clouds that had hung over head, threatening to spill more snow onto the city. He hardly kept up with what the weather was doing, or even what day it was. To him it was still October, and it should have still been fall, but winter was here as a brutal reminder to Simon that time goes on without him, and it will continue to after he's gone.

The ride felt as long as it had the first time he was driven home. The Nurse Svensson helped him out of the van and back into the building. He felt like he should be use to the musty smell of the place by now, or at least the cold would somehow dampen the smell, but he thought perhaps it was something he'd never get use to, or that it was something that just couldn't be controlled. When they rode the elevator up to the third floor he saw a familiar figure standing at his door wearing a green parka, knocking on his door.

When Sophie heard the elevator ding when it came to a stop on this floor she turned around to see Simon as his nurse wheeled him out of the elevator. Sophie quickly dabbed at the moisture that was surrounding her eyes and tried to put on a face that she's okay, but Simon already saw the worry on her face.

Shit, Simon thought to himself. She was probably the one who kept trying to get ahold of him. He felt stupid for thinking it was anyone else but her, after all, he felt like she was the only one who should have cared about him, right? He tried to greet her and wave, but he was cut off by his nurse.

"Hey, are you here to see Simon?" Nurse Svensson asked.

Sophie didn't pay her any mind and focused on Simon. "You never responded to my messages or calls... I got worried, Simon." She tried to mask the hurt but it was difficult to not let her voice crack.

"Yeah, sorry, I got busy," he started to say, but the nurse overtook the conversation once again.

"Busy laying in bed more like. Honestly, I thought all you'd be doing is text. That's all you kids nowadays do anyway."

Sophie looked puzzled at Svensson. "Excuse me?" Sophie looked her up and down, she does have trouble guessing people's age based off of their appearance, but she looked no older than at least 35. Is this girl really that out of touch with the youth?

The nurse shook her head as she wheeled Simon towards his door, past Sophie, unlocked it and let them inside. "I'm not that old, but I know better."

"You're always on your phone," Simon stated in protest.

Svensson shook her head and Sophie saw her roll her eyes. Sophie couldn't help but give her a look of disgust that she saw. "Could I speak to Simon in private, please?" Sophie asked.

"Well, sure, you're his first visitor since I've been here," Svensson stated. She wheeled Simon towards the table to have him sit in the empty space. "I'll be back. I'll get us something to eat." With that the nurse left, locking the door behind her.

Sophie sighed loudly. "Who is she?" Sophie asked.

Simon tried to turn to look at Sophie, but couldn't move very far. "That's my home visit nurse. She takes care of me."

"I don't like her," Sophie stated bluntly.

"Yeah, well, it's not like I could complain," Simon said.

"Why not? Won't they get you a different nurse?" Sophie queried.

Simon shrugged. "Could you get me my smokes and ash tray in my bedroom please?"

"Of course." Sophie went and found his cigarette pack and ash tray, and tried to find a lighter but failed to find it. She returned to Simon, handed him the pack and placing down the ash tray before opening the blinds and window.

Simon winced at the bright light that came through the glass, the snow outside making it seem even brighter than what it should have been, and pulled out the lighter from inside the pack and light up one of his sticks before (in his opinion) taking a well-deserved drag.

Sophie peeked her head outside to look out the window and peered down, shuddered, and brought her head back inside. "I hate heights..."

"Then why'd you look down?" Simon asked.

Sophie turned to look at him. "I always need to know of an escape route and whether I could survive if I should need to climb out the window."

Simon raised an eyebrow at her, as if expecting an explanation.

Sophie sat down next to him at the table. "I've had to, once before, and it's always been a fear of mine to have to do it again."

"Do you think you'd survive this jump?" He asked as he exhaled a ball of smoke.

Sophie shrugged. "I heard that cats can survive if thrown off the 4th floor from a building but not a 2nd floor, but I don't know if that's true or not. I hope no one ever has to know the answer to that question." She started to tear at the skin around her nails and chew on the inside of her lip, out of being nervous and out of habit.

Simon hummed in response, to show that he heard what she said. He didn't say anything, or offer to contribute to the conversation. He just looked away at her and stared down at the table.

"Simon," Sophie started saying to get his attention, and waited until he looked at her again. "Why did you ignore me?" She tried to force herself to not cry again.

Simon shrugged and stared at her. "I was busy."

"But she said-" Sophie cut herself off, realizing she was raising her voice. She cleared her voice and thought about what she wanted to say. "I got worried. I didn't know if you needed help, or if you had an accident and couldn't reach your phone, or if you-" She cut herself off again. She didn't want to think of the possibility of his death. "I wanted to know if you were okay."

Simon waved his hand around his form as if he were showing himself off. "I'm alive for now."

Sophie looked down at her hands, realizing she had picked so much some of her fingers were starting to bleed. "Sorry, I just... Maybe I worried too much. I'm sorry. Maybe it was all just in my head." She started to blame herself in her thoughts. She thought about getting up and leaving and only coming back when Simon felt like he could bother to message her again, but she stayed put not wanting to leave until she felt like there was some form of normalcy again.

"Hey," Simon said. "I'm sorry for not replying earlier. I should have at least let you know what was going on." He wanted to reach out and comfort her in some way, noticing how upset she was, but he also felt like he was touched too much that day and didn't want anymore physical contact. "From now on I'll try to reply."

Sophie forced a smile in his direction, but closed her eyes when she faced him to try to appear fine. "Thank you, Simon." She turned to look outside so she wouldn't have to face him.

"So, how have you been doing? Anything new happening?" He asked, trying to make her happy by making conversation.

"No, not really. School is the same almost. It's lonelier without you there."

"But you have other friends there who like you. They could always keep you company."

She turned to face him and stared at him blankly. "But there's only one of you."

Simon wasn't sure how to take her comment, so he just thanked her then stared down at the table again.

Sophie was staring at the table too, and decided she needed a cigarette as well. She asked him if it was okay, and he motioned with his hand to go ahead. They both sat in silence for a while as they both finished off their cigarettes. A lot has been going through Sophie's mind since she saw him last, and she was scared of asking him to help her clarify some things or clear the heavy fog in her mind for her. Simon's mind was cluttered with debris from his thoughts and from everything he's been digging up from his memories, and how he feels. He's buried those bodies hoping to forget the past, but all it seemed to have given him was ammunition for his spiteful thoughts, and his bitterness was a monster that was eating away at the bones like it was a feast fit for a king. Neither one could open up about it.

Finally Sophie broke the silence. "Simon, can you promise me something?"

Simon looked over to her. "What is it?"

"If you ever need me, please don't hesitate to ask for help. You need it now more than ever, and I want to be here for you."

Before she could continue Simon spoke. "What, because I'm fucking useless now?" He snapped.

"What? N-no," she tried to stutter out. "I just want to be your friend."

"Okay, so it's fine for you to ignore me, but when I ignore you for once suddenly it's a big fucking problem?" His voice was slowly raising to a shout.

"That's not it at all, I'm sorry."

"Maybe I just wanted to be left the fuck alone. Alright? Maybe that's why I didn't answer. Hell, I didn't even know it was YOU the entire time trying to get ahold of me!"

"Simon, you're scaring me." Tears started to well up in Sophie's eyes.

"Oh, YOU'RE scared? Imagine how I felt when you couldn't even be bothered anymore to talk to me!"

Before Simon could continue to chew her out, the nurse walked in carrying paper bags of food. Sophie took this opportunity of distraction and quickly left his apartment, almost bumping into Svensson on her way out.

Svensson turned and looked at Simon, who wasn't even looking at anyone except for the void space where Sophie had sat. "Well, she was hasty, wasn't she?" Svensson commented before closing the door.

Simon realized what he had done, and instantly felt regret. He mumbled a lie about how she needed to get back to class and she was running late, unsure if Svensson could even hear what was happening. If she did, she never mentioned it.

The day continued to be uneventful and quiet. As usual he waited until night fell and the nurse left before continuing to write into his book. The apartment felt like it was getting colder as the days went on, but he wasn't sure if it was because of the weather outside or if it was coming from within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do believe that Simon was a child victim of a local pedophile. He viewed the abuse as a form of murder, or it could resemble the macabre pain of what it felt like (i.e. would rather die).
> 
> Also, typically when someone is working through trauma via therapy they have a tendency to be quick to anger or lash out. It's super unhealthy, but Simon's not aware of any healthy coping mechanisms, or what signs to look for to not do this. I promise I'm not trying to demonize him.


	13. Down in Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon writes about one of his breakdowns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter because I want it to be easily skipped should someone need to avoid any descriptions of self harm. This is basically directly from the game, just a little bit of Sick Simon's pov

That night when he was left alone, Simon cried alone in his bed the entire time he was writing in his book. He was hoping that writing could get his mind off of things, but in truth, this was the most personal interaction he's has these past few weeks besides that short visit from Sophie.

He had written in this tall floating ghost-like figure with stringy black hair that would tempt him into shooting himself in the head, he wrote about how at times the gun would be empty and he'd be too scared to even breathe a sign of relief. He wrote about how he shocked a giant being he called the Mace by using some squeaky valves that was connected to some electric machine as the Mace was in a flooded area. He gave himself the grace of stepping up onto a platform that was just above the water level. Later, he cut open the being and grabbed the key that he saw was swallowed by it. He then used the key to advance to the next area.

Simon begun thinking to himself. The character in his book was suppose to be him, or at least a figment of himself that could understand what he's been going through, but he never felt a connection to this Simon he was writing about. This disconnect upset him. This Simon was a fighter, he couldn't even understand why this is being written, can he? He started to audibly sob, and there was only one thing he could think of to take away the pain. He reached into his bedside table and pulled out a pocket knife.

After that, he wrote about a bloody hallway, and ear-piercing noises that sounded like metal scraping against itself.

"What do you think?" He asked his book, this other Simon, by using his pen to dip into his fresh wounds to write in blood. "Do you like this?" "You don't know anything- If you could just understand- I NEVER wanted this-" The pages of his book started to stain with the stream of blood that was dripping off of his arm. "I JUST WANT YOU TO DIE... JUST... DIE."

He wrote about how this Other Simon was locked into a room with a chain link fence for flooring, and as he moved forward there were hands that had reached up and started to grab and tear at his ankles, causing this Simon to fall over, and be torn and shredded to pieces by these ghostly hands. He then closed the book and started to punch its cover, over, and over, until he felt like the book and his fist had enough of the abuse. He felt better, calmer.

He had managed to sit in his wheelchair with almost no problem, and washed his bloody arm off in the kitchen sink, and threw away the bloody rags that he used to dry himself off. He found some gauze and medical tape to bandage himself up, but the blood was threatening to seep though now that he washed away the coagulation that was starting to cover the wound. He found his way back to his bed, and noticed a bit of his blood had gotten on the sheets, in which he decided to tell anyone who asks that he had a nose bleed, and refuse baths for a while to hide what he had done. 

He picked back up his book again and re-read what he just wrote. He scratched out the death he had this Simon experience, and decided to write in how even though he was close to death, he'd still survive despite it all. After that he tucked his book underneath the pillow, hoping that the pressure from his head would keep the pages from wrinkling too much, and tried to sleep. As he laid there with his eyes closed, he swore he could still see the headlights of a car in the far off distance. This planted a seed into his mind.

"Maybe I'll go there tomorrow," he mumbled to himself.

He struggled to get to sleep, but when he did, all he dreamed about were the monsters from his book, trying to get to him, and he tried to run, but all he did was collapse and struggle to get back up again.

He woke up again a few hours later, got himself dressed and waited for his nurse to arrive.


	14. Observe my Life

It was a cold December.

Simon first asked to go to a specific park where he sat and watched people go by for a few hours, until Svensson suggested he go somewhere else. So he asked to be placed outside across the street from where he was hit. His nurse would try and get him to talk, eat, or go anywhere else, but Simon insisted on staying there and watch it. His nurse would wander off and told him that he should call her when he's ready to leave, he didn't know what she went off to do, but he couldn't care.

Simon's head was swimming with thoughts. The events that took place that lead up to that day, and the aftermath. He felt like everyone who was suppose to care about him have failed him in major ways. The rejections, the loneliness, the betrayals from his past poisoned his thoughts, making him feel even more isolated and more alone. No one could understand him, no one could truly know what he's been through. But does anyone care?

He only accepted to go back home when Svensson called him informing she's near the end of her shift.

When he got home and was alone once again, he continued to write in his book starting on a new chapter. "Chapter 3 The City Is Not Safe." He wrote about the Human Flower, the being he called the Sawrunner who has a chainsaw and chased him down the street, he wrote about the part and the flying beings that were bound to beds.

He started to think about Sophie. He couldn't decide how to feel about her anymore. He started to think about how great of a friend she was at the start, being the only person who ever had bothered to hang around him, but times always change, they come and go, and maybe this time he should let her go. He wanted to fight with himself, telling himself that maybe metaphorically killing her off because she pulled away.

He thought about scratching out what he wrote and maybe include her on his journey, but he ultimately decided against it, deciding this was for the best. He knew he had no one to blame but himself. He thought that becoming disabled was what turned him into a bad person, and he felt disgusting. He wished he could kill that part of himself. He wished he could be the Simon in the book he was writing about...

He then heard his text tone go off. It was Sophie. He checked to see what she had sent but ultimately decided to ignore it and continue writing for the remaining night, alone.

\--------

Sophie stared at her phone waiting for Simon to respond, and wondered if he was already asleep. She stared at the clock on her wall, and waited patiently for his response. She thought about the last time they talked when she visited. She knew his anger was misplaced, and she wanted to forgive him, but she really needed him to get ahold of his anger before she'd want to see him again. One thing Simon said had been echoing in Sophie's mind since that day. "Maybe I just wanted to be left the fuck alone." Did he really mean that? That really didn't sound like the Simon that she knew.

She read her text again. "Hi, Simon, did you want to talk?" She started to wonder if it was too formal, or wondering if how she worded it made her sound angry. She also wondered if the way she was worrying so much over a small sentence was even healthy.

She eventually gave up on waiting for a response, laid her phone down, rolled over, and quickly went to sleep.

She didn't sleep very well due to her stress giving her dreams of Simon yelling at her, and she tried to protest back and tell him "this isn't you" but her voice only came out as a whisper.

When she woke up she checked her phone again and noticed there still was no answer, and gave up on hoping he'd talk to her. She decided to not waste her time worrying about what he thought. If Simon was going to be angry and yell at her for no reason then she had no reason to put up with it. She knew she needed to start setting up boundaries because she definitely didn't want to become his emotional punching bag. She wanted to be friends with him, but she felt like that feeling wasn't quite mutual anymore.

She spent her days with her usual routine. School, extremely part time job, home. But for her to say she didn't think about Simon quite a bit would be a lie. Christmas was coming up, and she wanted to get him a gift, and even looked around to get him something. Ultimately she decided that if he wasn't wanting to work on their friendship in the end then why bother? But that decision made her feel guilty. She decided to send him another text asking what he was wanting for Christmas. She didn't expect an answer, and tried to not get her hopes up, but when he still hadn't replied after a few days she still felt let down. 

She even started to sleep with her phone's ring tone turned all the way up so she would wake up should he text or call, but it never came.

\--------

Every day Simon insisted on going back to the same place to stare at the corner that he was once pinned against. He'd just watch as people walked around him and by that corner, he wondered if anyone thinks about that accident, especially passing by, because Simon... he thinks about it all the time. Though he doesn't want others' pity, and he doesn't want attention, he just wants to know if anyone cared. Sitting there he felt alone. No one talked to him, they just walked by without saying anything.

He's spent weeks like this, even on Christmas. On Christmas day he did receive a slew of texts wishing him well, and a happy holiday, but he hardly responded back.

He'd give the occasional reply to his mother to let her know he was still alive, but overall he didn't want to see anybody, ashamed of who he was and what he was now- disabled.

He had noticed Sophie text at least once a week, and even wished him a merry Christmas, but he received nothing that year, he couldn't blame anyone, he knew he was being a jackass, but he felt like everyone else was too because he felt like they couldn't understand what he was going through.

It was the loneliest days of his life.

Eventually Svensson noticed how well Simon was adjusting to his wheelchair, noticing how he was now able to make his own meals, and get up in the morning by himself, and have reported such progress back to her supervisors in which she was instructed to shorten her visits which she promptly did, offering him her phone number should he need help. He never called her even if he needed help.

He spent most of his days trying to write his story, and watching whatever mindless program was on TV. At night he'd stay up for as long as possible to write.

New Years was just around the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It hurts so much to write Simon hating his disability ;;; i wish he loved himself canonically no matter what


End file.
